Mirror to My Soul
by stryker131
Summary: In this AU, Voyager returns to the Alpha Quadrant after seven years leaving a married Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres behind due to unforeseen circumstances. Three years later, Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris is finally able to go looking for her in a place he never dreamed of.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 The Mirror

 _Why did this take so long?_

Of course Lieutenant Commander Thomas Eugene Paris knew the answer to that question even as those words once again raced through the mind of the thirty-six-year-old Starfleet officer. Same question, same answer. _Unforeseen circumstances_.

On March 17, 2379, it truly was a series of unforeseen circumstances that had literally whisked him away from the surface of this derelict but lush world. Then more pressing matters consumed him after Voyager's long-awaited but unbelievable return to the Alpha Quadrant, issues that occupied almost every waking moment. And even though it had taken three long years, he had finally made it back.

Seeing this planet again with its ancient grotto invoked a flood of both fond and painful memories. He gasped as he took in that alien landscape once more, for his recollection of it was so crisp and true. The 6' 1" Starfleet officer thought this situation was particularly remarkable given that he had spent every spare moment reconstructing infinitesimal details of scenery and events not only in his mind but the computerized model running within the privately-funded Richard Galen Institute for Intergalactic Archeological Studies. He had hoped that work would provide comforting answers to pressing questions. But it raised more of them instead. And he knew that the only rejoinder to his recurring nightmares was to be found on this remote Delta Quadrant planet. That he was able to return under an extended leave of absence despite all of the bureaucratic flack and hurdles was a God-given miracle.

As far as similar places went, this weathered hollow was quite extraordinary. Its formation was a combination of hand-fashioned and natural features loosely reminiscent of Earth's famous Blue Grotto of the Isle of Capris. The inner pool with its cobalt water apparently had been crafted half-a-million years ago and was the private swimming hole for some long-dead monarch. Even a novice could identify the stone-cutting tool marks along the sides. The archaeological team that Tom had accompanied pointed out the flooded descending stairs that he and his wife, Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, had overlooked in their zeal years before.

Tom observed the Starfleet divers who were now standing by two massive and fully nude humanoid statues, one male and one female. They had been discovered by accident and it had taken a while to extract them from over three meters of silt. Each one was shaped in what the team's experts called an artist's rendition of the romanticized man and woman, so close in appearance that they could have been twins.

Those perfect forms could be taken for any Earth human. But Doctor Maxine Shimizu quickly pointed out one very small but important detail; the nose. Each of the two examples contained five rhinal ridges or creases running horizontal above the inner part of the eyebrows. The archeologists were flabbergasted, for these figures looked to be in every way Bajoran. And the statues, as with the outer pool, were fashioned at least 8,000,000 years ago and maybe more.

This discovery invoked a great deal of professorial puffery, each academic or practioner theorizing one thing or another. Tom had to laugh at them as they gaggled about, recalling how he went to a museum once where two teachers argued about an ancient unknown device being some type of primitive surgical tool. Later it turned out it was something called a 'church key.' Just a pointed-end can opener. But all present at least agreed that these effigies were two fine examples of a societal ideal and beautiful by anyone's standard.

When Tom and B'Elanna visited this planet three years ago, they had never seen this grotto. Thus they did not know that it was possible to swim from it into a tunnel and then to the amphitheater, the place where the incident happened. The event that Tom Paris had never forgotten nor could he. He now wondered what might have occurred if they had found that watery access back then.

Nor did they detect the main overland path, the one that wound away from the pool and towards a natural opening. Not a cave _per se_ but more akin to the divot one makes when you scoop hard ice cream from a tub. That in turn also led to the amphitheater by following a stone staircase.

As he retraced his steps to where he had actually commenced his walk with B'Ella that beautiful Saturday morning, Paris imagined tourists crawling all over this place one day. Ferengi investors were already salivating over how they could realize profit off the natural beauty here. Sightseers would certainly be fascinated by their ability to enter the main grotto through a concave but solidly-arched doorway, pass through it to cross an elaborate stone bridge spanning a magnificent chasm three-hundred meters deep, and then suddenly appear in what could only be described as a breathtaking amphitheater carved out of the rock like a massive soup tureen.

But even that route was not how the married couple had entered this place. They had dutifully obeyed B'Elanna's Tricorder readings. And that had led them eventually to the same amphitheater, albeit from a completely different direction. And what had transpired by doing that was why the Starfleet officer had journeyed across millions of light years to revisit this place after three long years.

He was looking for his spouse.

Returning had been anything but easy, his pleas hindered by a myriad of endless professional and personal matters. Two years were expended in San Francisco due to Starfleet's bureaucratic inquiries into Voyager's travels. There was the short-lived excitement of returning after seven-long years in hell. And of course nonstop mission debriefings. And routine medical procedures both physical and psychological. And so many emotional and mixed reunions with families. Counseling by Betazoids and shamans and priests. Media circuses to capture the spectacle, for profit. Paperwork, real and electronic. Reassignments as the crew broke up. Discharges for medical reasons or simply to get out. Retirements, promotions, awards, and decorations galore. Parties and parades. The half-attended one year reunion. _Yadda, yadda_.

And he spent hours upon hours in the flight simulator, naturally. And decided to pursue a doctorate in Space Engineering at the Daystrom Institute. And tried so hard to keep it together. He failed more than once, despite intense counseling.

There was also the Starfleet Board of Inquiry probing actions taken by Captain Kathryn Janeway and Voyager's crew when the Caretaker heaved their Starship 70,000 light years across the Delta Quadrant. And endless investigations over potentially violating the prime directive due to log entries revealing umpteen incidents and encounters with alien life forms. Tom winced; one of those occasions had taken a pip, driving him and B'Elanna nuts for a month as he stewed in the Brig. Got it back but it had taken one full year. And the Maquis courts-martials that thankfully ended favorably after several months of painstaking inquiry on the part of overzealous prosecutors. All of that meant testimony and redirects and statements.

And for Tom Paris, all of that living was overshadowed by the single dark cloud that dominated his life. A cloud that still denied him closure, as much as he wanted it.

One ray of light always penetrated that cloud. Miral. As much as the last three years had been painful, it had allowed Tom to focus on what was really important, his beautiful daughter. No matter what, he had made sure that his now motherless offspring was properly settled in their new San Francisco home. She was barely over three now and already a natural Starfleeter by everyone's account. And for Tom it had been a marvelous adventure watching his little girl starting to grow up, be it arranging recently for pre-school, endless babysitting, dealing with teething, and handling childhood diseases. And also changing endless piles of diapers. And dressing dolls. And laughing. And birthday parties. And Christmas without Mom. Going for walks with her in the stroller and playing horsey. And telling her over and over again about what her Mommy was like and keeping B'Elanna's memory alive through Holopictures and videos.

And explaining why she had those forehead ridges despite what some nasty children told her. And that she should view them as a badge of honor. Just like her Mom had finally come to accept after so many years of talking it through with Dad on their starship home. This was no freakish deformity. It was her culture. And she should be as proud of it as her mother finally was.

To be sure Tom was a devoted Dad, although it took a lot of hard work on his part, as a single parent and full time Starfleet staff officer. He smirked at that one. _Daddy Tommy!_ The once cavalier helmboy had fallen so deeply in love with Voyager's Chief Engineer that she uncovered his true self. He was a family man, as she was a natural Mom. He loved Miral; she was his darling princess and everything to him. To say she had her father wrapped around her finger would be an understatement. He was around her entire hand and arm.

Returning to the Alpha Quadrant and Earth also meant surprisingly pleasant interactions with his father, Admiral Owen Paris. They got along better than ever. And his mother, Julia, as ill as she was, was still the rock she had always been. It was as if seven years apart was nothing to them. And reconnecting with his married sisters, Kathleen and Moira and their families was simply awesome. And they all loved Miral. And everyone desperately prayed that one day they would meet B'Elanna, in this life anyway. One person prayed extra hard. John Torres. Tom and his father-in-law had many long talks about the woman they missed so much.

And he made sure to keep in constant touch with Rear Admiral Kathryn Janeway, who really helped to make this return possible. And Full Lieutenant Harry Kim who was a Starship First Officer and up for another promotion already. Even Voyager's Captain Chakotay and his Academy professor wife, Lieutenant Commander Annika Hansen, sent monthly messages. And he also received constant PADD missives from Lieutenant Megan Delaney, some of which were more than obvious as to her purpose in wanting to see him once again.

As Tom now stood at the exact spot where he and B'Elanna had commenced that fateful walk, he thought about how someone else had indeed become part of his life. But it wasn't Megan. Or anyone he had known on Voyager. Or even Ricky Harris. No, it was someone else from his past. Their meeting again was by pure coincidence during his second year without his wife. He had never intended to get involved. But he supposed loneliness had a lot to do with it. And having a baby girl who needed someone more than just him. And being in close proximity to a very familiar face and a gentle touch that always seemed to be there. How that old flame turned talented archeologist came to once again burn inside him was something that he still wondered about. Fate, perhaps. And it tore at him because his blood was still hot for B'Elanna.

One more year passed, their relationship deepening as time filled with his degree work and begging Starfleet's bigwigs to allow him to return to the Delta Quadrant. That took a mountain of paperwork and expensive lawyers, painstaking negotiations, and his father calling in long overdue chits. But as Dad told him, this was his daughter-in-law they were talking about, alive or dead.

And Tom ashamedly prayed more than once that she _was_ dead. That was horrible; he knew it. But she might as well be because he was going absolutely crazy without her. And he did not know what happened or why. He just did not know how to move on or if he should. What if she was alive? How could he be with another? Or get married again? It nearly caused him to start drinking once more but he couldn't do that. Every day he would wake up and look at Miral. And there was B'Elanna.

Eventually, Tom's return was approved as a discovery mission. That allowed him to lead the brand-new slipstream-equipped science vessel USS Pegasus to that place so full of painful and very sharp memories.

So here he was. Standing in front of the Delta Flyer II-B. He had left there an hour ago to scrutinize the recent archeological discoveries at the pool, leaving Flight Engineer Lieutenant Myra Anderson, Security Officer Ensign Mike Milano, and two guards to watch over things. One other person was aboard, _that_ person. Busy rummaging through a duffle bag looking for a hand spade, brushes, and dental picks.

The landing went as planned, although it was difficult for him to fly anymore. He had put _their_ ship, his and B'Elanna's, down next to Voyager's long-abandoned Class Two shuttle, Tecumseh. It was still there, exactly where he had left it three years ago. The power was long dead but the locks remained secure and completely untouched, less a slight covering of clinging vines and grainy dust. A Starfleet salvage crew was going over it with hand scanners, finding nothing of note.

And those same antediluvian forests were there, resplendent in their chartreuse leaves indicative of early Spring. The air was just as crisp and slightly moist as he remembered, the sap oozing out of the split bark. Buzzing insects told him that they were the only living creatures about. Insects it seemed always survived catastrophes both natural and inhabitant-contrived. And a number of violent episodes had evidently rocked this K-class planet more than once. The evidence was both numerous and compelling.

Despite what information he and B'Elanna had mined years before, Starfleet never identified the actual name of this place. The scientists merely dubbed it Narcissus, after what he and she had discovered here. What the Federation science eggheads had figured out, however, was that the planet had a hole-and-corner history. While they roamed about, B'Elanna's Tricorder had synched with Tom's to merge their data. That revealed a labyrinth below the surface, a place that at the time they had no idea would turn out to be so significant to the history of the Milky Way galaxy.

Using the data, the Pegasus' discovery team uncovered the well-preserved remains of a highly-sophisticated and antediluvian space port. And this was no ordinary one, for it was immense and capable of sustaining several million beings. Kilometer upon kilometer of empty shops and hotels and restaurants and offices and hospitals and everything else were virtually intact. And although only a few areas had been explored so far, all evidence indicated that this place was a temporary transfer point. Travelers came to board those abandoned ark-like vessels that were large enough to carry several thousand beings at a time, including bags and baggage. Where those beings came from or where they went was another matter. Even scientists don't know everything although, as Tom knew well enough from being a student once again, very few would ever admit it.

Walking forward along his original route, the officer's vision soon became distorted by blowing dust. He stumbled in pain but that was normal now. And dust storms were the constant bane of this place, the loose topsoil relocated by frequent yet very brief and severe winds. It reminded him of the Great Plains in the America's, perhaps contemporary Kansas or Nebraska. Placing an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, he stumbled onward as his chest-protector lamps projected powerful beams to guide his way. This storm was expected and planned for; it had happened to him just this way with B'Ella. And unlike a near-death experience in space with her about six years ago, he had plenty of oxygen.

And this time he had also brought along a large backpack filled with technological gadgetry from state-of-the-art hand Phasers to highly-sophisticated communicators. He had checked the comms a dozen times and even called for her now although there had been no contact with B'Elanna after she had passed through that ancient mirror thirty-six months ago. Predictably, no response.

The wind subsided once more, allowing Tom to gingerly step down onto the grotto's ornate but sooty stonework floor. There he found what he expected, two sets of still recognizable footprints created by Starfleet-issue boots. They ran parallel to each other, the smaller set to the left of the larger ones. And here at this pillar the two were close together, the tell-tale patterns showing that the two officers were walking about in a tight circle.

That spot was precisely where B'Elanna's Tricorder acquired the power spike that had brought them to this planet in the first place. And that device allowed her gleeful self to follow that steady signal by meandering down a side path where she used a Phaser to burn through flora that had once been part of a neatly-trimmed maze-like hedgerow. At the time Tom nearly lost sight of her, for he was staring straight ahead just as he was now, contemplating some of the most interesting ornate stone buildings he had ever seen, ones that rivaled the ruins of Sakari IV in beauty and complexity. As three years previously, carved long-dead creatures stared unseeingly back at him in grim mockery of his being there. This time, however, he took more than a few Holopictures, which were instantly uploaded to the Pegasus for near-instantaneous archeological and anthropological analysis.

Tom paused to berate himself over pushing B'Elanna into undertaking what was supposed to have been a brief but playful diversion. The two had not been away from Voyager very much, as newlyweds. His wife had just given birth to Miral three months before and she was so exhausted from caring for her and working hard as the Chief Engineer. Tom was also tired, for they were both doting first-time parents where every sneeze meant their daughter had the Drusian plague.

So when this K-class planet was identified as having an interesting and unknown power source, that discovery immediately tweaked B'Elanna's interest. Tom used that to suggest the two of them take a day or two to investigate it and at the same time enjoy some much needed personal time _alone_. It did not take long for the eager couple to convince Captain Janeway to let them have a look around. Scanners showed the planet to be very old and without life, less those insects and the flora. And Janeway was always interested in alternative alien power sources, as part of their mission to explore and document the Delta Quadrant while trying to get home.

 _Hindsight is 20-20. Timing is everything_. _If we had only known._ Those well-worn clichés had certainly applied to Tom here. With the Delta Flyer II down for maintenance, the two had arrived on the Tecumseh. But everyone aboard Voyager had known during that fateful month of March that Project Pathfinder had finally developed a wormhole big enough to convey a medium-sized Starship. And that Admiral Paris and Lieutenant Reggie Barclay had contacted Janeway via MIDAS to alert her that a wormhole would be opened for them in forty-eight hours, one so large and energy consuming that another attempt could not be made for at least two years. The entire crew was ecstatic at this chance to go home, celebrating with champagne what would finally terminate this unplanned adventure.

But then this planet was discovered with its energy spike, prompting Paris and Torres to push for their brief off-ship soiree. At the time they like everyone else thought they had two full days. Two days for what should have been a husband-wife working vacation sans an infant Miral who was left under the gentle supervision of her EMH godfather and Aunty Seven-of-Nine.

Paris turned to the left now, stepping forward carefully so as to not disturb those small footprints or his old ones. Once again the two trails intersected, this time denoting where his wife had pointed out a bubbling fountain of crystal clear water. After scanning it she had a taste and remarked how fresh it was. Then she turned and splashed just a bit of it onto his uniform, that laugh as clean as the water itself and that broad grin of hers beaming as it always did when something really excited her. She had grabbed his arm and pulled him close, aggressively planting a very passionate kiss on his willing mouth, which he returned in kind. He felt his lips now; sensing the love that had passed between them. They were as moist, warm, and willing now as they were then. And his eyes lowered, for that was the last fiery kiss she had bestowed on him, perhaps forever.

Before departing she suggested taking what once was called a 'selfie,' a timed photo of the two of them smiling with their arms around each other. And just for grins one more where they held up their left hands, displaying their wedding rings for the entire universe to see. Then he turned to her and simply said, "I love you, B'Elanna." And she told him that he was her life before she sauntered off.

And now that ring was off his finger, hanging upon a small duranium chain around his neck. He played with it a bit as he made a slow turn to the right to break through the scrub brush. That led him into the opening they had passed through before. And into the scooped-out amphitheater, a large bowl perhaps 150 meters in diameter.

Overhead was that entirely whole and curved roof; the one shaped like a seashell that B'Elanna remarked was designed to reflect sound. A few deeply carved stone seats hinted to the shape of long-dead occupants, the bulkier ones near the front probably reserved for important beings. He remembered brushing a few centimeters of filth off the middle chair and copping a squat as the self-proclaimed emperor for a day. His good mood overcame him so much that he failed to notice B'Elanna who was twenty meters away. She was standing on a dais in front of something that had grabbed her engineering brain immediately. Her mouth moved to say something but Captain Janeway's urgent comm interrupted her.

'Janeway to landing party.'

Tom recalled that B'Elanna must have hit her comm badge simultaneously with his, the tell-tale shriek of squelch override so apparent. Yeah, she outranked him and was in charge. But they always played that little game to see who was faster on the button. He had won, this time. The lithe brunette giggled and turned back to the object she was scrutinizing with a Tricorder.

'Paris here, Captain.'

'Tom, the wormhole is forming earlier than we expected. They are going to do it here. You two need to get back right now. We won't have much time once it fully expands. The Alpha Quadrant beckons!'

'Affirmative! On our way.'

'Janeway out.'

Tom turned to B'Elanna who acknowledged with a nod that the message was received. But scientific curiosity demanded that she at least take a Holopicture of what was a plain and very old mirror approximately three meters high. Despite the crumbling rocks that surrounded it, the polished quartz surface lacked so much as a scratch, perfectly reflecting her image in the picture. The mirror was in too perfect a condition actually, just as it was now. Tom recalled his wife fumbling around for her camera to reset the data memory card.

He yelled. "Bea, we have to go!"

"Just a moment, Tom. I need to photograph this so the archeologists can give it a once over. This mirror is the power spike! I mean, it is emanating incredible power! So strange for something that my Tricorder is saying is at least 8,100,000 years old. No apparent source fueling it. I wonder what this thing does." The hair on her neck told her not to touch it but she did anyway, right on the frame. Nothing out of the ordinary happened in response that she could see. Maybe a slight vibration similar to her receiving a mild electrical shock. She jerked her hand back and looked at it. _Nothing_.

"I wouldn't do that, Honey! Unfamiliar alien tech is not something we should play with right now. We need to get back to Voyager or we are going to miss the ride home. And I don't know about you, Mrs. Paris, but I am pretty sick of the Delta Quadrant. Although, if it wasn't for this seven year foray, I never would have met you again. And won your heart as long as that took to break you down, all eight ventricles worth." He brushed off his uniform to clear it of that blowing grit.

She took the picture but surprisingly dropped the camera, her hands feeling a bit tingly and numb. Leaning over to pick it up by the strap, she laughed as she looked at him with what could only be called intense love. "You sap! Tommy, sometimes I just…. Hey! What the hell…."

What ensued had haunted Tom Paris, for years. As the wormhole began to form and widen way above the planet's surface it also began to vacuum in space debris. Voyager shook as it was being pulled but its internal dampeners compensated. The planet, however, was less fortunate. It jerked slightly on it axis just enough to cause tremors in the range of a magnitude seven earthquake. One formed along a fissure deep beneath the amphitheater and shook the area so hard that Tom was thrown to the ground. B'Elanna lost her balance and pitched forward. The last word she screamed out was "Tom!" Then she fell into the mirror and vanished. Three years ago.

"B'Elanna!" As the earth settled once more, Tom scrambled to his feet and ran to the object, placing his hands on the surface. It was absolutely solid and cold as ice. His Tricorder indicated no power levels at all. Pounding on it did nothing. Frantic, Tom ran around to the rear only to find a plain and rock-hard onyx backing. He looked below and above; nothing. _She's gone! Oh God, help me!_ Now he was frenetically screaming B'Elanna's name over and over, again with no response. All that was left to indicate she had ever been there were her footprints in the dust and her dropped Holocamera.

'Janeway to landing party. That's it you two. I'm beaming you out now. Can't wait. Leave the shuttle. Transporter Room 2, lock on to landing party and beam them out NOW. '

'Transporter Room 2, Captain. Wilco. Energizing. Captain! I only have a lock on….'

'Captain, this is Tom. Wait! B'Elanna isn't….'

Tom now paused and rubbed his face, fighting back the tears. He remembered all of that as he now stepped onto that dais, the mirror throbbing with power once more. He had followed B'Elanna's pre-disappearance routine perfectly. Drank some fountain water. Splashed some out and took pictures. Scanned the area. Touched the mirror frame. Took pictures. He didn't know if any of that mattered but it couldn't hurt.

Then he sensed a presence and turned to see _that_ someone. The Richard Galen Institute for Intergalactic Archeological Studies Chief Archeologist. Doctor Ro Laren's compassionate brown eyes were staring up at him. And that look of love was on her face. He returned it, as best he could.

They leaned into each other, kissing deeply. Then they hugged but not too closely. Neither Tom nor Laren could get as close as they desired due to the elaborate exoskeleton under Tom's uniform, the one that allowed him to walk.

Just over two years ago now, a despondent and frankly near-suicidal Lieutenant Tom Paris had yet another shuttlecraft accident, this time very serious. Yeah, he was flying solo and distracted at the time, worried sick over B'Elanna and what he was going to do to find her. That caused him to make a series of small but nearly deadly piloting errors on his final approach to Mars Colony to pick up Lieutenant Commander Tuvok so he could testify at the Board of Inquiry. He put the thing down way too hard, crushing so many vertebrae that he would never walk again on his own. Even twenty-fourth-century Federation medicine and Voyager's EMH had no solution for that kind of spinal damage. By all rights he should have been medically discharged. But he was an Admiral's son, an Academy grad, and a promising officer with a future. Thus Starfleet paid for the experimental powered exoskeleton from the Daystrom Institute, one fabricated by Professor and soon-to-be-commissioned Annika Hansen herself.

Laren looked pleadingly into Tom's eyes. "Tom, do you really think she is in there? And alive? I mean, three years is a long time to be separated, even if you are married. People grow apart. They grieve and move on with their lives. And even if she is in there, there is no telling what _there_ really means or what it is. And if she is alive, she was alone with no support from Voyager. Or…you. Yet I also know B'Elanna is a survivalist. She will do whatever she has to do to live. Anything." She paused, not wanting to say more at the moment.

This was nothing new from her. Her deeply personal conversations with Tom had started a few months after they met once again at the Institute when he started working on that model. She could not help but to reach out to him, given that her very close friend B'Elanna Torres was missing or dead. That was all it was supposed to be. Comfort and understanding from an old…friend.

At first she had no intention of getting physically involved again with that famous warp ten pilot. As she knew, no one can get physically involved with someone without emotional attachment. The physical always serves to fuel the emotional. How could it not when you allow someone to touch your body like that? And she did not need this. There was someone on Bajor, a very kind doctor of medicine who had lost his wife to cervical cancer. And he had two children, two girls who were five and three. She loved them all and they loved her. When he asked her to marry him, she said she would have to think about it. That was a year ago now. And he was still waiting.

This entire situation was awkward to say the least. After seeing Tom once more that old feeling returned. Laren got down on her knees at night and prayed to the Prophets to please not allow her to get involved with him once again. Either they never answered or she did not listen.

As Maquis, she and Tom and B'Elanna were three very good friends who were tight through good times and bad. But she and Tom became passionate lovers until he was sent to prison in New Zealand and she returned to Bajor. If that had not happened, well, who knows? Yet Laren and Seska both knew that Torres was falling in love with Tom and him with her, despite the very torrid affair. They both did their best to hide it. Laren knew that it had been Little Miss No-relationships Torres who preferred to suffer rather than expose her very hurt little girl self to a deeply-meaningful relationship with Paris. And when Laren heard that B'Elanna and Tom had actually married on Voyager and had a daughter that was no surprise to her. Why it had taken nearly seven years on board for that to happen she had no idea. And she was actually happy for them because she had known for a long time that those two had always belonged together.

"I guess what I am saying is that there is no telling what happened to her." She gripped his right hand. He squeezed hers back. "And you want to move on, Tom. I mean, you don't even wear her ring anymore."

That hurt but it was true. That ring only reminded him every day of what they once had. "I know what you are saying, Laren." He kissed the brunette's cheek and she moaned with his touch. "But I suppose if any one of us was going to move on it would be her, not me. You knew her. In the relationship we had, have I mean, she was the one who was least secure. Always trying to reconcile her two halves." Now he did fondle the wedding ring B'Ella had given him four years ago, as if he could sense her presence nearby. His blood ran warm as it always did when he was near her ever since they took the blood oath years ago.

He turned and walked away from the mirror, although its power called to him. "I needed constant reassurance that she loved me but B'Elanna, well, she was always conflicted when it came to us. Those two sides of her, human and Klingon were always at odds no matter what I did. She reconciled that conflict over time and especially once we married but not flawlessly. Before that, there was that damned alien almost sucking the life out of her due to her stubborn Klingon honor not wanting that hologram Cardassian butcher to save her. Abusing herself over the Maquis deaths and not telling me was due to her human side. After we married she tried to alter Miral's features in her womb. That was Klingon shame. And later thinking I would up and leave her one day, well, that was human too."

Tom rubbed his face and looked back at Laren. "But I…love both her halves. They make her B'Elanna. I would never do that to her, you know, leave her. She claimed and bit me on Sakari IV. Given her, that took a lot despite the fever. As the male, I asked her to take the blood oath on our wedding night to honor her and she agreed. That is no small thing for any Klingon woman to do, half human or not. It is more than just saying ritual words and making love afterwards, Laren. Our souls are now bonded forever and that can never be undone, even if we were to divorce. We can never be divided. We are truly one person now." Then he touched his chin, B'Elanna's claiming scar still so prominent.

"For now I have Miral and so in a way I have her. You, Laren, have been great, taking care of my daughter. At times I think she loves you, as a surrogate mother. You spend a lot of time caring for her when Mom or my sisters can't do it. I am very fortunate to have you around as a…very good friend." _An involved friend._

The 5'9" Ro Laren squeezed his hand once again, her other hand now slipping around his waist. He did not fight her off this time. "Just a friend, Tom? Are you sure that is all you want from me? Once you go through that mirror you may never come back from wherever it leads. I really don't want to lose you again. I…fell in love with you once more but you know that." She leaned in and kissed him, hard. "She's gone, Tom. Let her go. You have to move on."

He returned her kiss but broke contact after a moment and laughed, shaking his head. "I know that inside of me, I suppose." He looked away and then back. "But you don't 'have' me now to lose, Laren. I have so very strong feelings for you, yes. And _you_ _know_ that. But I _am_ married and that is sacred to us both, B'Elanna and me. And as far as what I want, I want _her_. She is all I have ever wanted. All I have ever needed. Only death can change that, hers or mine."

Laren smiled a bit but it hurt. She had tried to win Tom's heart over these past months but maybe not hard enough. So now she was taking in the scent of his cologne as it intertwined with her perfume. That caused her to grab his strong shoulders even through that tunic and the portable exoskeleton that supported his spine but also increased Tom's strength to male Klingon proportions. Pulling him close, she knew from experience that he would not resist her. He couldn't and didn't. She pried open his mouth with her tongue and he responded fast. Her left leg wrapped around his thighs, so wanting to pull him down to the ground and peel off that artificial strength enhancer and everything else. As they went backwards she fumbled for her shirt releases and lifted her bra to expose her breasts and swollen nipples. She pushed forward naturally as he lay on his back, seeking once again the long-awaited pleasure attained from his much practiced tongue.

He almost gave in; he was rock hard. But he stopped her with one panting look. "We…can't…do this. It's not right. I took the blood oath."

Tom had flashbacks to a similar situation years ago, as Laren straddled him and rubbed her groin on his. "Tom, we all take oaths. Sometimes you just have to work around them. I want you now. Inside of me. Please." She raised up and began to peel off the rest of her clothing.

Paris' mind burned. This was so right. And oh so wrong. That resistance returned, the same as it was on Sakari IV when a desperate and crazed B'Elanna Torres begged him to screw her and end the burning hell of blood fever. And he was so close to doing her right on that cave floor. But morally he knew it was wrong to take her that way. He was also Laren's friend, not just a past lover, and he had to look out for her too. His strength of character took over, for he was an Admiral's son and was raised to be a gentleman and to respect women. Okay, so he had more than a few females since being a teenager. But always mutual when they were in their right mind. Laren was definitely in her right mind now. But he was no longer single. He had not only taken the blood oath with B'Elanna but also a vow to love, honor, and cherish her. And they had a daughter. There was no honor in this. And that stopped him cold.

"I can't do it. I have to go."

Laren was disappointed yet again but it had been that way for months. Holding hands, kissing, hugging, getting very close to copulating but nothing intimate. Now she rolled off of him and allowed him to stand. She remained on her knees while dressing, her frustration and even some anger gradually subsiding.

"Tom, I hope you find who you are looking for."

He noticed that her eyes were so brown and wet. She was sniffing now. "Me too. This isn't easy to leave behind people you love and especially Miral. But I suppose Lewis Carroll would be proud of me. Laren, I know you will help Mom take care of my daughter and please keep telling her that I love her. She's like her Daddy at times. Needs that constant assurance."

He took a tentative step forward. "I wish I could love you, Laren. Even when we were that way as Maquis you knew I was in love with B'Elanna. If there is anything good that comes out of this at all, I suppose it is that I really know now what I must do and why. Don't keep the lights on, Laren. I don't know if I will ever come home."

Without looking back, he stepped through the mirror.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Professor Lana Beltor

Two teaching assistant doctoral students had spent ten minutes debating knocking on their professor's office door, not wanting to provoke this very testy individual. But eventually the boldest one knocked, entered, and meekly spoke up, not knowing how 'That bitch in heels' would react.

"Professor Beltor, do you…umm…have a moment?"

 _Sigh._ The thirty-three-year-old 5'5" brunette raised her tired brown eyes from sorting the piles of final exams that awaited distribution to her undergraduate students. She smoothed her plain, grey blouse and examined her chronometer. _Plenty of time._

"Of course, Drina. Students are my life, you know that. What seems to be the problem?"

Drina looked sideways at her new boyfriend, Kellner, and indicated that the coast was clear. This time the Bitch was calm. So Drina walked over to Beltor's 'brain board' and picked up some chalk. The tallish redhead drew the formula, S= d/t and T=d/s. "Professor, we are having problems with solving these undergraduate final exam questions. Our formulas don't work correctly." Twirling her red hair, the young woman stated the issue. "We have most of them figured out but calculating the speed and velocity of a Starship as it jumps to warp is tricky, even for geniuses like us." Small joke, no response as usual.

Lana Beltor stared at her fingernails. _Need to polish these._ "Define the problem. Then seek the answer."

 _Okay. Dry mouth starts working now, please._ "Sure. The problem, _ahem_ , to me, Ma'am, is that the vessel cannot be at full impulse as the question indicates or it could affect the designated jump point you provided when the ship enters warp. Intrinsically speaking, half impulse, not full, allows the helmsman more control to avoid overshooting the designated transition point in space. Is this…umm…an error in the problem design, Professor?" The two nervous students awaited the usual detonation. To ease things, the black-haired Kellner added, "I guess we are not very good at ancient history. Umm…Professor."

That invoked not fury but a laugh, a headshake, and a smile. _Sometimes even simple math can be daunting_. "Well, that is why I make all of my grad assistants take the undergrad exams so you understand precisely what I am asking you to evaluate. Not everyone is as familiar with ancient Starship propulsion systems as I am, especially when technology that is two million years obsolete is involved. But I think it will help if you recall from Spacial Physics II that the average speed of an object is the total distance traveled by the object divided by the elapsed time to cover distance; scalar and judged by magnitude. Velocity, however, is the rate at which distance is changing and in what direction." That came out as if she had been doing this all of her life, which she had.

The students nodded and consulted their hand compilers, so dependent upon tech to provide definitions and solutions rather that what their mentor demanded, which was to use their brain. And that was why Beltor was called a bitch. Grumpy by nature, yes. But also very demanding; a real taskmaster. Unlike many of her colleagues, she actually made them work to earn grades.

So Lana stood up and dragged her fabulous body slowly to the board, her form-fitting skirt highlighting her shapely ass. "Let me give you an example from an historical case." Grabbing some chalk, her hand moved like lightning as it drew calculations and diagrams without thinking. The white stick was a blur as it crossed the black surface with dust hitting the tray in heaps. Then a hard slam into the chalk holder, for emphasis. "A _good_ pilot back in the day understood that affecting the spatial flow when making that jump is like riding an ocean wave. They judged speed and velocity by computer. But an _excellent_ pilot with _natural_ skills not only rode the wave with great precision but intuitively anticipated the next one in speed, velocity, _and distance_ between the waves. Few pilots can ever do that. Which is why there are excellent, natural pilots such as Tom, and those who aspire to be like him. Right now, I am like that pilot. I have a doctorate and years of experience and you are merely aspiring students." She checked her fingernails again as her incisive brain turned those newly written figures over seeking an error. _None_.

That response drew a bemused look from Drina and Kellner. Kellner kicked the carpet with his shoe and bravely queried, "Professor, just what is a 'Tom'? We've never heard of that term before."

Lana continued, so deep in thought that she never heard what they just said. "So you have to consider _distance_ with speed and velocity. Then the formula becomes…What? Here is a clue. S= d/t. T= d/s. And then…?" Any serious nuts and bolts freshman knew the answer but sometimes even the obvious can go unnoticed at the more cerebral graduate level.

The young woman pushed her steady beau aside in her excitement and wrote on the board, speaking as she went. "D= t X s!"

"Hey! I knew that, Drina! You are always sucking up." He smacked her arm playfully.

Doctor Beltor raised her hand with a smirk. "Save that for outside _my_ office over a beer. What is important is that the answer is correct and you both figured it out using your head. Just as I now draw it here, using your formula and the parameters that I placed into the exam question." More chalk, more lightening moves, and more dust and there it was. The solution to the first final examination question.

"Thanks! But…." A puzzled Drina was looking at the brain board. "Professor Beltor, I didn't know you were such an artist! That chalk drawing at the end of your calculus looks exactly like a Starship entering a wormhole just as in the ancient history books. But what is that below it?"

That provoked a snap of the head to examine the board once more. There were Lana's figures, the formula and calculus worked out quickly and without flaw. And she had drawn a smoky-spiral with an object approaching a wormhole to illustrate her point, a Starship with an elongated elliptical hull and twin engines at the back. That was normal procedure for her to use pictures to illustrate math. But now her brain twisted itself as she tried to understand what she had written below _that_. She had no idea what it meant or even why she had put it there.

NCC-74656.

Never known to be at a loss for words, she stammered out, "I…have no idea. Umm…please excuse me, I have to go. Lock up when you leave." Gathering up her exams and the worn leather brief case with 'L. Beltor' embossed in gold leaf, she left the doctoral students pondering the remaining exam questions to be worked out on that chalk board.

Obviously more than rattled, Lana pulled on her black blazer and left, rubbing her forehead deformity as she stopped by the department office. There was that same smell of overdone perfume that reeked of bilious camphor, the latest fragrance fad that she hated so much. _Why couldn't they do something with roses?_ Putting the exam papers into several envelopes and sealing them, she slid them into the teaching assistant mailboxes and turned to the more-than-skinny secretary. "Raita, I'll be back on Wednesday afternoon to pick these up once they are graded!"

The scrawny grey-haired rock of the department answered while contemplating her steaming teacup. "Nice weekend coming, Doctor Beltor, weather-wise! Semester almost over! We're off to the lake cottage!" With a wave of her hand she plopped more sugar into the mug. Then she turned excitedly and rubbed her rhinal ridges. "Oh, did you hear, Professor? That seed mission to Galaxy A-1835-IR1916 left this morning on time. It was on the morning news. Not as big; only 3,550,000 Gen. If I was only forty-years younger! But still so amazing! We truly are the sperm and eggs of the universe, Professor! We are the spawn!" A prideful grin emerged, one that flashed her yellowing teeth.

Beltor grunted. "We…umm…are not the only ones. Just more rabid, maybe. Gotta go." _We?_ _Of course we. I mean, I am Gen, born and raised. Salute the flag. Sing the anthem. All of that._

"Join me in a cup first? Got this at the Spice Merchant. Just in from Estelle VI. Not a lot of tannin, just as you like it."

A quick time check. "Okay, maybe just one." Beltor smirked.

/

Lana left the office, bladder complaining and brain cogitating those letters and numbers. _NCC-74656_. _Where the hell did that come from?_ The Gen had a National Constitutional Congress that met bi-annually. Maybe those were the letters. But the numbers did not add up to the total amount of voting members. _A roster or welfare registration number?_ But why would she need that? And none of this had anything to do with her course or her subfield of study. It was a mystery, to be sure.

Taking the stairs, Lana wrapped that scarf around her forehead and neck as usual and then quickly exited the building for the Metro station. She ignored the typical stares from passersby as that number rolled around in her head like a loose marble. Eventually she concluded that this was just another oddity to join many others, vivid recurring dreams being one of them. One nightmare was the blond-haired man with cerulean eyes who was holding a baby that looked a lot like her. The child was crying and she wanted to comfort that little girl. And why that baby was _a girl_ she had no idea. All she knew was that it would end with her awakening in a start; sweating, smiling, and in total confusion. Thank the stars for her psychiatrist fiancé who could explain all of this to her.

With a scream of over-pushed reversed turbines and jammed brakes, the train arrived. Lana's engineering brain winced; that driver had no touch. Unlike that guy whose name now escaped her who caressed the helm like a lover, this idiot was fat-fingered. But she boarded anyway; the transit company's maintenance problem was not hers. And boarding meant sitting alone by a window to stare out as buildings and trees rushed by.

There were always impolite glares, just as now. Lana pulled that scarf just a bit tighter, having never gotten used to them. Here she was thirty-three and a genius university professor. But still a societal freak. A young woman cursed by two facial deformities, those forehead ridges and the absence of a rhinal nose. If she could remember who her parents were she would curse them, as well. No one found her attractive except for Gen State Chief Psychiatrist Rico Fallon and for him Lana counted her blessings. She was marrying him very soon. And why he wanted to marry someone like her was also a mystery, given that she was physically unattractive _and_ suffered from amnesia because of a transport accident.

Disembarking, she caught a taxi to her apartment building, a nice mid-sized grey stone so typical of the national capital, Gen Burkina. That was so funny to her. Everything seemed to have Gen somewhere in the title, from fast food restaurants to home reactor repair shops to schools, churches, and hospitals. She had once asked Rico about it because she could not remember why it was like that. He said it was because their race was the One, the _gen_ erator of life, for the universe. Of course, he was joking.

Today she had pent-up energy so her feet hit those 685 steps to reach her floor. Then down the hallway, key card in hand. Apartment 605, just as it always was. With a swipe she was in, then security locks engaged, heels off, and into the living room to plop on the sofa and rub her stocking feet. Her hand reached for the robot-prepared cocktail she enjoyed, something called a Ba-Jor Fizz. She laughed; the bubbles tickled her nose.

As she stood up to peel off her clothes the monitor alerted, the timer activating to show the evening news. She had missed nearly all of it, as usual. There seemed to be a great deal of excitement over a protester being killed in that Gen Nature Park. It seemed to her that there was always something going on out there. Some people had been hunting a mythical beast for years, one with no evidence to speak of. As a scientist she found that so laughable. This incident probably meant that a pack of wild Dayan dogs had slaughtered another careless crypto hound.

Her comm link activated, causing her to put down her drink. It was Rico. She threw on a robe and hit the receive button.

"Hey babe! Was just checking to see if you were home yet." He examined her robe with a keen eye. "Anything you want to show me? You know…umm…a stack of research papers? Some pottery you made at the Craft Center? Your gorgeous hot body?"

Lana laughed. "You haven't seen my gorgeous hot body yet. At least not all of it. That, lover, will keep until we are married. And I can wait the two days for that. You can too, you know." She rubbed her lips with her tongue then walked into her bedroom, the camera following as it floated in space. "What is the dress code tonight for the rehearsal, Dear? I am too tired for formal."

"Casual, Sweetie. Mom and Dad took care of everything, as they are legally obligated to do. The wedding party will be there at…." He stopped. "Lana? Lana!"

Suddenly Beltor felt a sharp pain in her head. These spikes had become so severe since her engagement party last month and this time it knocked her for a loop. Her blood was on fire! She could feel a tremendous pull, as if her soul was being ripped from her body. Staggering just a bit, she sat on the floor hard and just off camera.

"Lana! Are you okay? Where the _hell_ are you? Lana! Speak to me!"

 _Now this is most unusual_. Lana heard Rico calling to her, clear as day. But it was not his voice. It was male but the accent and tone were different and strangely familiar. And something was telling her that when she heard it before it was far more insistent and deeper in feeling. As if that person? entity? whatever? was expressing more than deep concern for someone he loved. And something else. He was calling her 'B'Elanna.'

"I'm…fine." Standing up, Lana grinned. "Just fine. Look, I need to get changed and I will come straight over to the Civil Hall. Okay? Love you." She reached for that Fizz.

"Love you too. Call me if you need a lift."

Rico disconnected. _Damnit! Just fucking damnit. Her_ _memories are coming back_. Walking over to his office cabinet, his shaking hands jerked open a drawer. Flipping through the electronic data sheets, the State's Chief Clinical Psychiatrist found what he was looking for.

'Torres, B'Elanna. Female. Thirty. Starfleet Lieutenant. Human-Klingon hybrid. Terra Prime (Earth). Case# 333789-AA-456-ZS2-10.'

Cramming deeply into his leather overstuffed chair, Fallon changed Torres' age to her current thirty-three. Then he drank a cocktail as he went over the case synopsis once more, looking for errors in the medication dosage and frequency. There were his notes, so fresh in his mind as he went over them.

More than two years ago, this beautiful alien female accidentally passed through one of those long-unused transfer portals. This one was 'Seeded Planet 1-1-DD' in Galaxy 342-12-998ZR-HRT-12. Location of device: 1.2 billion light years from Gen. He sipped. As he noted, this portal business happened more often than the media reported but no one had come through _that_ one in 500,000 years or so. And after some research he discovered that all of them were luscious female high priestesses seeking to mate with their 'god.' That turned out to be non-Gen males. A Gen man was never to breed with an alien. A sacred oath to keep the raceway pure.

 _Right._ He now read included portions of the Security report. Stunned, scared, breathing heavily through three lungs used to richer oxygen, Torres had beaten her hands raw trying to reactivate something that had been unmaintained for about 375,000 years when the Dorian civilization collapsed after an atomic war. He glanced up, his memory recalling that there were thousands upon thousands of these portal things all over the sown universe. But that was before what's his name, he snapped his fingers a few times, Professor Tamar Neasden, turned ion-plasma fusion from theory into a working model. When combined with known procedures concerning folding time and space, he revolutionized space travel and sent the Ark-series spacecraft to the dust bin of history.

Torres' case file was as amazing as her. Rico always had a thing for exotic aliens ever since his first girlfriend in high school. She was a Haleem with that perfect green skin, a beautiful body she knew how to use, but with nothing upstairs. Torres was so different. Stunningly beautiful. A warrior. A brilliant engineer by her standards and even his. Well-read, obstinate, and unfortunately totally in love with her husband Tom Paris and her daughter Miral.

That had been a problem, especially when he decided that this alien beauty would be his. He discovered that when she 'refused his advances,' as the novelists would write it. That was putting it mildly. She had beaten the crap out of him twice when he tried to kiss her. And it had taken a lot to finally get that first kiss. A lot of drugs, that is.

 _She is so damned exciting, a dusky jewel ready to be plucked._ Her foreign beauty and feisty nature drove his plan to win her heart, alien or not. But it was her toughness that he really loved. No Gen woman and most men could have survived two months wandering the Gen Nature Park avoiding packs of predators, the unpredictable foul weather, crazed illegal drug cultivators, rabid game hunters, and the ever-present armed Wardens and Park Rangers. She was finally spotted and captured but not before winging three of those super stud Wardens and fending off a dozen more until that hand weapon of hers drained. When finally subdued, B'Elanna was still full of fight even when suffering from exposure, dysentery, parasitical infection, black vomit, peeling skin, loss of hair and…. In other words, she was very messed up.

Security took a crack at her and she was surprisingly cooperative, revealing who she was and what happened. And asking umpteen questions about the 'mirror' and how she could return. They of course did not believe anything because she was obviously not Dorian. That much came out through a complete body analysis by staff physicians and cultural anthropologists who identified her species from DNA in the archives. As it turned out she was a very primitive half human and half Klingon from a poorly-advanced galaxy technologically. But she was bright and highly intelligent; almost equal to a Gen during the Middle Period. And she was far stronger, especially for a now thirty-three-year-old who had given birth so young.

It took one month in the hospital but she recovered, that Klingon constitution healing her faster than anyone expected. And then he arranged for her to be discharged into his care as a 'sponsor.' The Gen Office of Immigration allowed it, given that he was the State's Chief Psychiatrist and her obvious 'issues' needed tending.

Interviews revealed her personal history to be a sad affair, certainly. Her father's abandonment of her as a young girl and a bitch of a mother had toughened her but left her emotionally scarred. And she was a 'Starfleet' officer, although an Academy dropout. That really confused Rico; no Gen could have done that and lived. Failure in school for any reason was cause for State execution, as unsuitable for furthering the species. Then she had been something called a 'Maquis,' some kind of volunteer armed militia waging war upon a race called the Cardassians. Local politics was not his forte and wars were so passé. And then her sudden appearance on one of those very antique vessels, a Starship called Voyager lost in something called the Delta Quadrant. How you get lost out there was unimaginable. And evidently she had been Chief Engineer. That was not too surprising, for she was smart and competent enough to do that, despite being a female.

And as she put it, Voyager was where she became whole, finding the family she had always wanted with a husband who really loved her just because she was B'Elanna Torres. And they had given each other a precious gift, Miral. And every time Tom or Miral came up in an interview she would break down, so wanting to get home to them and all of her comrades once again.

He poured another drink. Getting her had meant that he violated his medical oath and risked his practice and position by resorting to drugs. And he lied to her, saying that the 'mirror' was only a one-way trip. She disagreed vehemently; her problem-solving brain was always seeking a way to get home to family and friends. Nothing was going to deter her from doing that. Yes, he had indeed underestimated her stubbornness and discovered it was not like her to give up, especially when she requested access to a science lab. He knew he had to do something when an argument between them went way above his level, one where she articulated the breakdown, transmission, and reassembly of living matter without killing a person. That concept was new to him; everything that came through a portal was whole and he cared less about how that happened.

It was when she called him a liar in public after finding out that it was possible to return and demanded to be released that he saw his ideal woman slipping away. He had to do something. He had to intervene. That is what he told himself again, as he poured a third drink.

So he put her under during one of those therapy sessions when his assistant was in the bathroom. He prescribed and administered 'psychological treatment.' In truth he pumped her full of memory blockers because he was in love with her. This was absolutely unprofessional and maybe grounds for execution. But she was so seductive, strong, fiery, caring, loving, and a million other things to him. Gen women were so ordinary and he loved the bizarre. And Torres was all of that and more.

It took months of ever-increasing doses for her to completely forget who she was and where she came from. Now he began to rebuild her memory based upon her aptitude tests and interview information. He gave her a State name. Applied for a birth certificate belonging to someone's dead baby that would have been her age now and without living parents. That allowed him to falsify records and acquire a social retirement and tax number. She now officially existed. Session after session meant she came to accept her new identity, one where she had been born a freak. Her parents were dead, killed in a transport accident that left her brain traumatized with amnesia and she would periodically hallucinate. Her talent was in academics and science so he told her she went to State supported-schools as an illegal orphan with an anonymous and well-placed benefactor who covered for her. She eventually earned her position at Gen University. Now she had a comfortable but boring career in academia. And a man who loved her dearly, aberration or not. Him.

There was one thing left to do and that was to confiscate every possession she had when coming through the portal. That took some doing because many agencies had them. Rico shook his head as he rubbed his forehead, thinking about what that had taken. The uniform was easy; he burned it at the hospital. The various tech devices went to the Department of Scientific Curiosities. Into a vault, paying off a scribe to put them somewhere, anywhere, uncatalogued. She would never find them anyway.

But getting his hands on the one thing she would not let go of proved very problematic. No matter what he did she would not take off that ring. He tried and tried but she would not do it, even when drugged initially. She kept explaining that it was her wedding ring and that it meant the world to her, as much as that chin scar he wanted her to remove. It really marred that lovely face of hers. But he decided it made her more appealing after all. Just keep it.

On Gen, they had no such thing as wedding rings. Nuptials were a civil ceremony with many guests, a couple saying yes, a ceremonial handshake, and a toast. Then a week-long helluva party, all paid for by the male's family. And later, copious amounts of sex on their honeymoon.

It was only after the drugs had taken full effect that he was able to get that damned ring off her one night when she slept on his couch. And he flung into the disposal after reading what to him was only a bunch of mush, an inscription reading, 'TEP-BT maj dok.'

Little did he know that Doreen the maid had found it; watching him rip it off and toss it away. As an alien humanoid from the Crab Nebula she knew what it signified, in her culture at least. So she kept it for safekeeping and sentimental value. And maybe it might be worth something one day. She came from a wealthy family of hoarders. Her mother collected string. Tons of it.

Now Rico Fallon was preparing a series of booster injections, ones he would administer at the wedding rehearsal. They were very potent but she was so mentally strong. Still, after that juice was in her, that would end Tom Paris and Miral, once and for all.

/

Lana stretched her naked body, the one that had just been ravished once again by Rico. It hardly seemed like seven months had passed but she supposed they were a comfortable married couple now by Gen standards. Their lovemaking hadn't slowed one bit, just as passionate and frequent as ever. But she had learned that biting, gouging, and beating him bloody was something he did not appreciate. That stopped fast and she let him dominate her, as any Gen female would. And where that dark side of her came from anyway she had no idea. She abhorred violence.

A very satisfied Rico rolled off her and began to dress, his climax obviously finished due to his beet red skin. All Gen males flushed beet red after orgasm and he was no different. Women loved it; it made them feel fulfilled. Nor did he really care how she felt because that did not matter in Gen society. For as advanced as they were in medicine and science, educated women had their place: in the sack, at home, education, nursing, mid-level administration, and, for some archaic reason, the law. And Rico's wife was having mixed feelings about all of that because she sensed that someone had once treated her as an equal in everything. That included sex. But that was ridiculous because until her wedding night on the Isle of the Moon she was a virgin.

But those foolish thoughts were not as outlandish as the conversation that was unfolding, as Lana showered and got dressed. She had to be in class in two hours.

"Lana, I need to ask you a few things." Rico's voice was not pleasant but demanding.

"Just a moment, Honey. I'm on the pot."

"You can still hear me, Lana. I want you to undergo the operation. And soon."

She reached for a tissue after firing up the bidet. "I don't want to. I like myself as I am and so do you. What's changed?" The bidet emptied after she cleaned herself and she reentered the bedroom wearing her bra and panties.

Her husband gave her a very horny look but finished buttoning his shirt. "I was finally offered the position of regional psychiatrist for Sector 12!" He grinned more than the first time they finished making love.

Now Lana Fallon was euphoric. "Why, that's wonderful!" She ran to him and gave him a big kiss, putting her arms around his neck. Her man had been after that job for years. And as she had discovered last week, the only thing holding him back was his lack of a marriage partner and an opening. A spouse was mandatory due to the type of cases he would handle and it was also a remote assignment. A populated world, yes, but one with over two dozen solar systems within his jurisdiction. And the long-expected death of the previous official had finally happened, created the opening for the Gen's number one candidate.

"I accepted, of course."

Lana now had pulled on her skirt and was buttoning her blouse when her mouth opened in shock. "Without asking me? Why would you do that knowing I would lose my position here?"

"You know the answer. No need. I am the head of this family and the decisions are mine alone."

She acknowledged that as Gen truth. "But there are no universities on Sintu VII! What am I supposed to do there?"

He grunted and tied his shoes. "What a Gen wife always does when married to a high-level bureaucrat with a future. Look pretty, giggle and smile, host parties, socialize, and…" He kissed her. "…get pregnant. And why that hasn't happened by now is a mystery. Gen women are so fertile. Did you go see that doctor I told you to visit? My old college friend, Doctor Weldon?"

She shook her head. "I haven't had time, Rico. I'll get to it once the midterms are…."

"Make time. Seriously. I need to find out what's wrong with you. You should be pregnant by now. And did you schedule your reconstructive surgery?"

Lana nodded. "Yes, I have a consultation for tomorrow. They are going to explain how they will grind down the forehead protrusions, implant additional hair, and rebuild my nose. I…am…not sure about this. I'm scared." She ran to her husband seeking comfort. He gave her a light hug and pushed away.

"I can't have a deformed spouse and hold this type of job. So you are helping me out so much here, just think of it that way, loving wife! And I have to go, Lana. I will need to leave in the morning for Sintu VII."

"What!" She nearly dropped her coffee.

"Can't be helped. There are interviews on every world, endless speeches and presentations, dinners, politics, and the usual fluff. I have to meet with the Chief Counsel of the Search Committee and the Admission Board the day after tomorrow to start the ball rolling."

"How long…is that going to take?" Lana was shocked.

"Six months. Maybe a bit less if things go smoothly. But we will be in constant communication and that will give you time to get operated on and heal. The actual down time is only a few days. You can do it during Spring Break, no sweat."

"That's half a year apart! And we are newlyweds! That is almost as long as we have been married. And I have a research paper to prepare for! I am the guest speaker at that dinner at Gen Eastern University. I wanted…you…to come. There is a lake there and I have a free day. It would be so romantic! I could…get pregnant. At least try."

Rico shook his head. "Sorry but I won't be here then. Maybe next time but when I get this position you won't be doing any more of those. You'll be busy taking care of Rico junior once we figure your problem out. And no artificial insemination or surrogate mothers, if they offer that. That is not for potent men with fruitful wives. And tell them to select for male once you have become pregnant."

"Wait. I want a little girl! We can always have a boy later. Why don't I have a say in any of this?" She was becoming irritated.

"We've been over all of this before, Lana. You know the cultural history of the Gen. Gender is also my decision." He reached for his briefcase.

Now Lana was incensed, her Klingon rage building. Then it came out. "You are no Tom Paris, Rico Fallon! Tom would never have treated me like this! We were equals in everything. Everything! You don't love me. You are only using me. If Tom was here he would kick your ass! And maybe I should do that for him!" Dressed now, she stomped out of their apartment, Doreen wincing in her mistress' wake.

Rico watched her seethe. So what? Lana had only mentioned Paris twice since they became married. Now and on their wedding night when she had an orgasm and screamed out Tom's name. It would subside. The drugs had taken hold.

/

The space port was not too busy for a Saturday afternoon. Lana was holding onto Rico for dear life, their spat long over. Making up had been worth it, for they had made love for hours last night. And she was going to the surgical consultant, as soon as her husband boarded that ship. But the surgery would have to be done later, after they moved. And the fertility doctor could wait, as well. Rico finally agreed that being pregnant for the first time while moving to a new home on an alien world was not ideal.

He looked at her without too much interest, his mind going over his new position long before he had even earned it. "I think the trip should be uneventful. It's only nine days on a slow boat. If it was a colonizing mission I would be there in fifteen seconds. But such is life when you are also hauling freight."

Lana looked up at her spouse with mixed emotions. "Please don't be angry with me, husband. I want to be good for you. I don't want you to ever leave me. Promise me! And I promise I will try to do better at controlling my temper and I will adapt. I seem to be pretty good at that sort of thing, for some reason." She kissed his lips.

That was one thing he hated in her, she was so needy. Always thinking that he would leave her. And if this kept up and she did not get pregnant, then…. His Gen masculinity was at stake, as was his reputation.

The boarding call sounded but they still had time to finish their drink. That was when the State broadcast cut in to terminate what had been a very exciting sports event.

"We interrupt the finals of the Gen 1 versus Gen 11 team handball skirmishes to bring you this breaking news bulletin. A group of Teen Girl Explorers were surprised this morning by an unexpected guest. An alien male came through an ancient transport portal less than twenty meters from their campsite in the Gen Nature Park. He was quickly disarmed and apprehended by scout leaders."

The camera panned over the arrested, subdued, confused, and angry face of a blonde man with blue eyes probably in his mid-to late-thirties. The camera zoomed in as the space port crowd watched and mumbled, Rico and Lana included. "I wonder who he is?," said Lana. "Look at his eyes. He's terrified!" For some reason she wanted to reach out and hold him while Rico gave a curt reply. "Who knows? Who cares? Probably another wayward scientist checking out things they know nothing about. Security will work him over and then Immigration will take him and process him like all the rest. And the mandatory psychological evaluation will occur."

Then he added. "Odd though that he came through that specific portal. I mean, no one came through it since three years ago and it had been hundreds of thousands before that."

Lana stopped and bit her lower lip. "Who came through there three years ago, Rico? I don't remember that one at all."

The reporter continued before he could answer. "This marks the fifteenth such incident this year and the second one from that portal in three years. The Citizens Action Group for the Preservation of Antiquities said there is no public danger but intense political pressure is being brought to bear to have these things destroyed. More at eleven. We now return you to the team handball skirmishes, already in progress."

Fallon brushed it off. "Oh, just some drifter explorer who discovered it by accident. But these things will continue to be rare. I mean, once a portal activates they are good for one trip for one being. But they are so old now that _if_ they work it takes a full year for them to recharge using sunlight or any similar source. Anything can happen in a year and by then this portal will probably be headed to the scrap heap. The bleeding hearts will get rid of it claiming child endangerment. Oh, got to go! I love you, Lana. Do what I told you to do about those physicians. I will contact you in a few days." He kissed her forehead ridges.

Lana stood there as her husband went through security. She was staring but not after him. That man on the screen. Where had she seen him before? But how? No, this was her imagination playing tricks again, probably because she was so nervous about seeing that doctor. With a sharp turn she wiped her wet eyes over her husband's departure and left.

/

"I told you! I am Federation and Starfleet officer Lieutenant Commander Thomas Eugene Paris and I am here because I am looking for my wife! Her name is B'Elanna Torres, she is a half human and half Klingon Starfleet officer, a Lieutenant. Starship Voyager's Chief Engineer. And she came through that damned mirror three years ago, Federation time. Now where is she?"

Magistrate Remo Xingu, the Chief of Gen Security, had not been there when this 'Torres' person had arrived but he knew of the case. "For now, we are more interested in you, Lieutenant Paris. You beat the hell out of a dozen Park Rangers before they subdued you; scared the daylights out of thirty or so young ladies and their scout leaders, and you were carrying primitive but deadly weapons and other unlicensed devices. And that exoskeleton you are wearing is a pretty formidable weapon in its own right."

"It's _Lieutenant Commander_ Paris. Or Commander Paris, if you will. Or Tom. I told you. I have a spinal injury. I need it to walk."

 _Sure. And I am the Emperor of the Known Universe_. "Uh huh. That is a lie and you know it! Spinal injuries no matter how severe are easily repaired by full replacement or implants. Simple stuff actually, especially when given your physiology. But still, maybe not where you come from, which has yet to be verified. And I need the assessment from the technicians regarding your hand scanner and those two cameras. The images in particular. We need to see if you imaged anything that is prohibited."

"All of them are from Narcissus or Earth. Didn't have time to take any here before your goons arrived and attacked. Do whatever you want to me and my stuff. I am only interested in my wife, B'Elanna. Where is she? What have you done with her? And if you don't know, then who does? Let me speak with them or someone in authority. I beg you!"

 _He begs me!_ "I _am_ the authority. Sit here and shut up. _Commander_." Chief Xingu walked out and over to the forensic labs. "Anything?"

"Nothing much, Sir. These pictures were taken at different times. There are images of old decrepit buildings from the pre-Dorian Age, old space Arks that are of Gen design and in nice shape, two images of the large stone male and female markers we used eons ago to claim the beachhead seeding planet, and what appear to be family pictures of him, a woman, a little girl, and an infant. The infant could be the older girl; the woman is holding her as a baby. The eyes are the same color and width and she has forehead ridges although less pronounced. Nothing that reveals State secrets about our experimental labs out there."

"Think he is legit? Torres' husband? Not a Regales industrial spy? He has the same features and bone structure as them. I figured out that much."

The technician shrugged his shoulders. "Not mine to determine, Sir. DNA will do that. If Doctor Fallon was here he would get it out of him one way or another. Doctor Neenah Flaxes is filling in temporarily and she knows that Torres case very well. Doc was Fallon's assistant when that female whatever it was came through the same portal. So it won't be too hard to compare this alien's notes with that one and make a determination. And the tech he brought with him is all worthless crap. I can destroy all of it in the disintegrator, no problem."

Xingu nodded. "Get rid of all the communicators and weaponry. I want the cameras and its contents sent to the archives after they go through Gen Intelligence Branch for a once over. Where's Doctor Flaxes?

"In the break room getting coffee. Sent me the results of Paris' DNA sample. He's fully human; probably from Terra Prime, as he said. Although he called it…" He flipped through his electronic notes. "…Earth." She commed to say she was coming right over." He paused, then recalled something. He showed it to Xingu.

"Oh, Sir. He had this chain around his neck with a ring on it. It took five of us to get it off him. No explosives, no power. Just a gold ring with an inscription inside. 'BT-TEP JiH dok.'"

The Security Chief looked at it. "No idea. Give it back to him."

 _Good_. Flaxes was coming and he would soon pass this major headache off to her. Maybe he _would_ be home by dinner tonight. His wife would be happy, at least. She had been cooking all day and the kids were probably starving by now.

/

"Lieutenant Commander Paris?"

Tom looked up from his chair to see a lab-coat-wearing titian-haired Gen woman of some height, nearly 6'0" tall by his estimation. Very attractive with those piercing blue eyes of hers.

"Yes. And you are…?"

She held out her hand, per Earth human custom. "Acting State Chief Clinical Psychiatrist Neenah Flaxes. I can tell by the way you are staring that you are horny, think I'm Bajoran, or maybe both. What is it in your case, Commander Paris?"

 _Direct. Just like B'Ella_. He shook her hand. "Both. Horny but not for you. And you do look Bajoran. Like those statues on Narcissus. Why is that?"

She had no idea where Narcissus was. "That can wait. For now, I need to hear your story one more time, in as much detail as possible. If you please, Commander."

Tom shook his head. Not again. "Look, I am tired of telling this over and over. You have more advanced tech than I have ever seen so you obviously have this all down already and ran comparisons. I did not change my story one bit and it was not rehearsed, given the questions I was asked. Why one more go round? Is this your idea of torture?"

 _Humm_. "No, it's not. It's because if you want to see your wife B'Elanna Torres again I need to compare your story with hers. That's why. And if you think I am joking, who is this in these images?"

She handed them to Tom. He glared at them, at least twenty pictures taken when Fallon had interrogated B'Elanna. He absorbed every detail from the top of her head through to her Starfleet tunic and pants to her boots, always looking for physical abuse. None, but she was gesturing, crying, pleading, raging, and in one she had a chair in her hand in the process of being heaved. "Oh my God, its Bea!" He broke down with his face in his hands.

Flaxes' eyes watered. That utterance of endearment was in Torres' file. According to her only two people had ever called B'Elanna 'Bea;' her father, John Torres, and her husband, Tom Paris. This man was obviously not her father. Paris' reaction was pure emotion and absolutely genuine, as far as she could tell. But he was not wearing a wedding ring. Torres had told them he had one identical to hers. Then her mind recalled that not all human men wore them. Typically only a religion called 'Roman Catholicism,' some 'Muslims,' and a few others on Terra Prime. But she could verify that easily enough with the cultural anthropologists. Maybe he lost it. She had no idea of its true value to Tom beyond being a ring symbolic of their union, in his culture at least.

In as matter-a-fact a manner as she could muster, she addressed the crying man before her. "Lieutenant Commander Paris? Have you calmed down enough to tell me your story now?" Tom nodded. He started talking while over sixty hidden devices began recording, comparing, and analyzing heartrate, perspiration, eye movement, muscle responses, brain wave activity, respiration, answer delay time, recall movements, and a host of other behavioral markers. All of that would be entered into a data base along with the oral interview and a full Bioscan. Then all of that would be compared with Torres' file. The higher the comparison result, the more likely he was telling the truth.

/

Five hours later, Doctor Neenah Flaxes returned to the interview room to find a despondent and apprehensive Tom. She had talked with him for over two hours and ran his data and Torres' through every computer analyzer she had. The 98.6 confidence level was all she needed to confirm in her mind that sitting before her was B'Elanna's husband from their previous galaxy. And she was both elated and furious. Elated for Tom and B'Elanna and even more than that actually. And so furious at that asshole of a boss she worked for. This situation with Torres was his fault, the coat tail-riding suck up that he was. And he was definitely a pig.

"Well, Doctor?"

She flung the chart down on the table. "You check out. As far as I can tell, you are who and what you claim to be."

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. "Now what? When can I see B'Elanna?"

She turned. "Not for a while, I'm afraid. There is at least a week of interrogation by Security. Then Immigration gets you. Once you go through all of that, I can claim you as a 'sponsor.' That is what Fallon did to your wife. He sponsored her." _And then he married her. And is screwing her. That son of a bitch._

"Geezus! How long will that take?" Tom stood up and paced around the room, obviously troubled.

"Typically a month. But I will try to speed that up. Once you are done I will take you to see her. I know exactly where she is. Torres is living in a very nice and comfortable apartment in the Government Housing Quarters area. Very ritzy."

Tom was confused. He expected her to be in prison or a psyche ward. But that could wait.

"Why…are you helping me? I mean, I sense that you don't have to do it."

The million Rhodium question. "I don't but I want to. Care to sit down?" She pulled back a chair and indicated he should take a seat.

Voyager's former helmboy leered. "That bad, huh. I prefer to take my misery standing up."

The shrink laughed out loud and Tom joined in. Torres had been right; Tom Paris had a sense of humor. But there was nothing funny about what she was going to reveal.

"I am helping you because she is married." Her face remained cool as ice.

Tom looked at her quizzically. "Of course she is married! I'm her husband! You just confirmed that."

She shook her head. "What I mean is that she got married _here_ , on Gen. She is called either Professor Fallon or Mrs. Lana Fallon now. Formerly she was known as Lana Beltor. And to you, B'Elanna Torres before that. As I said, she's married. To _him_ for seven months. I was invited to their civil ceremony but I refused to attend."

Tom nearly sat down but he didn't. Instead he leaned against the table with his hands, his mind turning over and over. _Married! Shit!_ Three years of hoping, praying, and begging that she was alive or dead so he and Miral could get closure one way or another. But married! She had a husband. A partner. And they were having sex, of course. His B'Ella and someone else were having sex! This was too much. Someone was going to die and it was not him.

His mouth moved to respond but Neenah's hand shot up in a move reminiscent of then-Captain Kathryn Janeway on Voyager. "And that is precisely why I am going to help you, Commander Paris. Because Rico Fallon, my former fiancé, dumped _me_ for _her_. Nearly two years of my engagement went out the window because he lusted over _her_. I am such a damned fool! But he seduced her. He drugged her. And he did it to fulfill a life-long fantasy of having sex with and marrying an alien, which no one in their right mind would ever do! No Gen would ever do that and risk polluting the DNA pool, as the seed of the universe! That is so _disgusting_!"

Tom managed one short comment, not understanding much of any of that and still too dumbfounded to say more. "I did. I married half a one."

She winced. _Oops._ "Sorry, Commander. Call it a rant by a woman scorned. So I am going to help you for one reason only, Tom Paris. Revenge. And that bastard Rico Fallon is going to pay. Boy is he going to pay."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Choices

 _Her eyes are so brown!_

 _She was nose to nose with her now, allowing those brown ones of hers to peer deeply into those looking back, reflecting the love they shared. Warm breath exchanging; she could taste it. And those lips were soft and moist; she touched them now with her fingers, tracing the outline and invoking a feminine giggle. It did not take long to boldly kiss them just a little; once, twice, three times, with a willing response in kind. And her hands were caressing those full cheeks, as a pair of warm arms wrapped around her neck, fingers interlaced. That brown hair of hers was so soft and the head it covered now rested upon a strong and olive-skinned shoulder. That beautiful head! Remarkable actually, those ridges so unique. No freakish deformity. It was a cultural badge of honor reflecting an ancient and honor-driven heritage tracing itself to the Garden of Eden, Qui'Tu, and the first of their kind, Kortar. It had taken a while for her to embrace honor but embrace it she had, both halves of her._

 _Now a pair of legs wrapped snugly around her waist, as she spun around and around invoking more laughter, smiles, and giggles. So happy. So content. So in love with this little girl who was her daughter._

 _Miral looked up at her, tracing her mother's ridges and lips with a wet finger that had just been picking her nose. Children were walking germ factories but Mom did not care. This young lady was hers, the product of the love between a man and a woman that created someone very special who looked just like them. A mirror image. Well, almost._

 _But now that so precious little girl looked at Mom in a way that she knew always preceded a question. When is Christmas coming?, or When can I have a horse?, or May I have another piece of blood pie, please? Those were easy questions to answer._

 _But not this one. This one floored her._

" _Mommy, why don't you love Daddy anymore?"_

Lana Fallon sat on her firm rump in the patient waiting room, her legs crossed and right foot kicking. _What do those damned dreams mean?_ For an hour or so she tried very hard to analyze that question. That also meant that the e-magazine article had been reading itself, the words entering her head, swirling around, and then leaving without retention. Perhaps the reveries were nothing, as Rico had repeatedly told her. "Ignore them, Lana," as simply a manifestation of worry over her lab results and if she was a good candidate for facial restoration.

She was pissed off right now, of course. Her appointment had to be rescheduled three times. Such was Gen-Care, State-sponsored medicine at its best. And this was a low priority procedure. A month had passed since her original date and when she was finally seen the surgeon turned out to be female and an alien, not a Gen male at all. Lana was not happy about having one of _them_ , a non-Gen, go over her medical history and lab work or even touch her, although there had been no removal of clothes other than her jacket and blouse so the scanner could do its work. Supposedly, Prendasti women were very skilled at this sort of thing and there would be male Gen doctors-in-residence there to assist either here or on Sintu VII.

Her mental well-being had been surprisingly calm despite being without her husband, Rico. That also annoyed her. His 'constant communication' turned out to be twice since his departure, his reason being that he was so swamped. As he mumbled without apparent feeling at her when they did talk, the university professor nodded in non-sympathetic concurrence, knowing full well that she was merely a bit of fluff on his arm. But she was married now and not that long so perhaps everything would work out for the best as they came to know each other better.

"Mrs. Fallon?" Lana looked up to see a woman nurse practioner beckon her to come this way and back toward the examination room. So she flipped the e-magazine reader aside, grabbing her expensive purse as she got up. She was not looking forward to hearing what Doctor Maxis had to say one way or another.

The nurse left after the obligatory, "Please sit down, Sweetie. The doctor will be here in a moment."

 _Sweetie? Screw you! I am not your Sweetie!_ Fallon was thinking how she hated when people called her 'sweetie.' They tended to do it more to the elderly when treating them like children but she occasionally had it happen to her. And if anyone in the universe was going to call her Sweetie it would be her husband, Tom.

 _Tom? Now where did that come from?_ She meant Rico of course but that name just arrived and behaved in her brain as that e-magazine article had; going in, spinning around, and leaving as fast as it came. Nothing there for it to grab ahold of, memory wise. She shrugged that thought off to be replaced by another that made her feel warm. Tom was in a cubby hole with her on a Starship, rubbing and kissing her forehead ridges and telling her how beautiful she was. Then that memory was gone too.

So she sat on the examination table with her designer purse flopping over on the floor, awaiting the outcome of her cranial scan. The door opened and a very short and squat doctor burst in charts in hand, a bundle of energy and excitement. _Another chance to grind, saw, and cut! I live for this!_

"Mrs. Fallon, you are indeed a prime candidate for reconstruction and in perfect health. And Gen-Care will cover you, less the deductible. There are some before and after holographic 3D images on the screen over there that you may select from. And we also have a free-floating image of your skull so you can watch the operation in simulated time. I am so excited! I haven't worked on a female Klingon or even half-a-one like you in nearly twenty years. Actually never; the last one was male and he changed his mind. Or perhaps died in that freak ion rain storm we had that flooded half the capital. Bad, that one." She paused. "Never mind. Rambling." The doctor reached forward then stopped. "So, let's look at your fore…head…first? Some…thing the matter, Mrs. Fallon?"

Lana was speechless; her mind racing. _What did she call me? A cling on? A clinker?_ "Excuse me?"

Doctor Maxis blinked, her overflowing eyebrows twitching. She repeated herself. "I asked if you were okay. You suddenly look pale. That's normal when contemplating extensive facial reconstruction. Perhaps I should take your blood pressure or maybe you could use a glass of water. Nurse!"

Lana stood up so fast that the physician jumped back, clearly confused. Now Lana's eyes narrowed, which for her was never a good thing. "I don't need my blood pressure taken or some water! I want to know _what_ _you just called me_."

More confusion followed along with a bit of controlled fear. That icy stare was menacing and the doctor knew it. This had to be handled gently.

"Umm...called you?" Surgeon Maxis carefully placed Lana's chart on the patient couch and backed up a bit more, noting where the room exit was. She had some experience with an enraged Klingon, as a once-broken arm and nose attested to. "I didn't call you _anything_ , except Mrs. Fallon. If I called you something else and it offended you, I certainly apologize. There was no intention to offend." She paused, playing with her computerized stethoscope as she gauged this prickly woman's response. Seeing none, she moved backwards. "Excuse me, for a moment. There is a test result I need to see. I'll be right back." She left with a rapid gait.

Now Rico's spouse was as perplexed as that doctor. But not as much as she became after picking up and perusing her chart. There at the top was her name, her age, her occupation, and other hospital data, all of it accurate. But in the column marked 'race' she was identified as 'Human-Klingon.' A human she had heard of. But what the hell was a Klingon? This could not be her chart; she was Gen, born and bred. _There must be some mix up_. _Happens all the time in Gen State-run hospitals_. She smirked, obviously still irritated. She recalled that last year the news reported two babies being switched in the hospital nursery by an intoxicated orderly. He was executed, as per the law.

If things were that messed up here, Lana wanted no part of it. So she grabbed her leather purse and walked out. _To hell with this_. _I can wait._

Lana wasn't absent ten minutes when Maxis reappeared looking quite serious, another chart in hand. "So, it is just as I suspected, Mrs. Fallon. Your body scan _did_ show you had a baby about four years ago, a girl by the DNA markers. My concern is that we have no record of her birth and nothing that indicates she was stillborn. Did you have her at home? Many women do these days thinking it is 'natural.' Not recommended by health care professionals when so many women died from complications over the centuries in the 'natural' Gen Nature Park. So much pain. Bled out usually. Or died of infection. But I'll spare you the gory bits. And you certainly have not been taking your child to any Gen wellness clinics as the law requires…. Mrs. Fallon?"

/

"Well, Tom, how does it feel to be out of there?" Neenah Flaxes and Tom Paris were standing in a light rain upon the steps of the Gen State Department of Immigration. For a man who had not been outside of a 2 meter by 3 meter room very much in four weeks, this was heaven.

He patted his drab but new and State-provided clothes, the grey and blue shirt and black pants standard garb for any immigrant Gen. "Great, Neenah! I have had my share of prisons in my life and this month has brought back a lot of memories about that. Mostly bad ones. But some…good."

The clinical psychologist half-grinned at Paris' joke. "Come on, Tom! How can you have good memories about prison? I mean, we don't even have jails here. Those we don't execute we put on colonies specifically designed for lifetime incarceration. They are humane, I suppose, but not much more than that. I've seen them myself. Certainly not a place that would invoke fond memories." She gently slapped his arm.

"Owww!" That was her, whacking his exoskeleton. Tom responded with a bit of a laugh as he flexed his back. "Forgot about that, did you? About those prisons. One of them has one nice memory, for me anyway. It is a long story but if that horrible place had not happened I may not have fallen once again for B'Elanna. And she for me. Some people recall where they first connected. Maybe it's a lake or a party or at work or the gym. With me, its a Vidiian prison cell while awaiting our organs to be harvested. Weird."

His mind was there now, his cerulean orbs staring into those brown eyes so strong and so scared but willing to act. He smiled. To him, B'Ella was the bravest Starfleet officer he had ever known. "So what's next?"

Neenah scratched her nose and looked at the release form. "Well, here is your S-13H I.D. so you are legal." She handed the plasticized card to him. "Don't lose it. And here are your free food coupons. And your free emergency communicator. And a free transport voucher. And your free apartment is ready in the public housing district. Not the nicest place but cozy and relatively safe. I would not go wandering about at night too much. And you have a State-provided job interview next week. I am sure you want to read the announcement…"

"B'Elanna."

"…but as I was going to say, you will want to see your wife first!" She pulled up her coat collar now as the rain came down. Tom removed his jacket and was holding it over her head. "You don't have to do that." She smiled. Tom was a gentleman. Torres was a fortunate woman.

Tom shrugged. "I want to. My endless compulsion. Call it the Boy Scout in me. You know, helping little old ladies across the street, cleaning up polluted rivers, keeping beautiful women dry in the rain. That sort of thing."

She laughed some more and touched his arm. "Your wife said that you are a hopeless flirt. But she also said you are harmless, just in need of female company when things get rough. Yes?"

That caused him to rub his chin and feel the bite mark scar that was there. "Guilty as charged. She knows me all too well." _But not anymore_.

"Let's walk this way, Tom. It's not far."

The rain stopped and the sun peeked out. Tom hoped that was an omen; his boots splashing water from the puddles. The two strolled easily along, Neenah's arm safely wrapped in his. Anyone looking at them would think they were lovers, as they smiled and laughed. Moving along further they found themselves talking about their lives, as if they had known each other for years. It was clear that even one month together had caused them to become very close friends. And Tom had a natural weakness for Bajoran women, even Gen ones with blue eyes and titian hair. And she liked kind men with blonde hair and cerulean eyes. They had a lot more than that in common, these two.

Neenah told Tom she was thirty-six and knew she would never marry. Two years younger, Rico Fallon had been her best chance. He liked that she was tall, beautiful, and smart. Most Gen men tended to admire the first two attributes but certainly not the last. Brainy females threatened most of them, especially when women talked over their head, a Gen cultural taboo. That was one reason she had fallen hard for Rico. He loved her intellect and as a Gen woman she knew better than to threaten him intellectually.

Lana's apartment building was coming up, the security guard allowing them through based upon the psychiatrist's identification badge. Paris signed in as a guest. As they neared a large bubbling water fountain, Tom abruptly halted and turned to his escort. He was thinking about California and a fountain in Los Angeles where he and his best friend sat and ate lunch. Ensign Charlie Day looked up as he munched a sandwich to see a girl who had broken a high heel. He offered to fix it and she said okay. He did, tapping the nails in with a pocket knife as she grinned. He smiled. They got married a year later and Tom was best man.

And then the other fountain on Narcissus came to mind, of course. That one held different memories. "Have you ever thought about leaving here, Neenah? Getting away from all of this?" He put his hand in the water and splashed some of it impishly in her direction. She faked being appalled and giggled, splashing him back. He smiled and continued. "I did this at another fountain a month ago over a billion light years from here."

Neenah contemplated that distance and shook her head. "No. I'm not a dreamer, Tom. Only a clinical realist. My roots are here. I have no family anymore but it would take a lot to get me to leave, frumpish existence or not. Why?"

Tom turned. "I know someone special you need to meet. His name is Charlie Day. He's thirty-six now and a great pilot. Rock solid. We grew up together and went through the Academy as classmates. He's a fast mover in Starfleet, a full commander with a ship of his own now. He's on patrol in the 'DQ,' the Delta Quadrant." Tom's eyes glistened as he spoke from the heart. "He's…my best friend. _Sniff._ One helluva guy." He wiped his eyes, not wanting to tell her what was coming next. But he trusted her and he needed to tell this to a woman. This was so hard, his emotions firing on all cylinders as he patiently waited to see his beloved B'Elanna.

Now Tom related his Los Angeles fountain story, which the Gen psychiatrist took in with interest. The he stunned her. "Charlie lost Maryann a couple years ago when I was still in the DQ." Now he began to cry. "And I wasn't there for him…or at her funeral. I should…have been there, Neenah. Never told this to Bea. I found out after she went through the mirror." Tears flowed freely now. "Charlie understands but he's like the brother I never had. I love him like my own blood."

 _Deep breath, Paris._ He got it back together, Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris once again. "I'm sorry, I'm okay now. It's just that you two would be so good for each other, I think. Even if he is…an alien."

Neenah flushed, regretting what she had said to Tom before. But it was true about the DNA stream, if you were going to spread the raceway seed and be a galactic colonizer. But she never had the calling to just leave everything and blaze the trail, as a pioneer. She was also embarrassed professionally because Torres had warned her that Tom was resilient but at times so vulnerable. That vulnerability of his caused women to crack, then drop their panties and open their legs.

But that was not what had happened here. No, unconsciously and effortlessly Tom Paris had got to her because he felt genuine empathy and was looking out for her best interest, as a friend. But he still _got to her_ through his deeply-concerned little boy side, as B'Elanna told her he would if she ever met him. That was what had actually cracked B'Elanna's aching heart. Torres had never known anyone who cared so much about others. And especially for her.

Now the Gen woman gripped his arm. "Some things were never meant to be, Tom. We are so far away and Charlie doesn't even know I exist. But if I had the chance to meet someone like him, I would do it." She smiled and Tom returned a grin.

Now she turned to the business at hand. "As we discussed, B'Elanna does not know who you are. You have to let me approach her on her terms. That means in _her_ apartment. She will feel safe with the maid there even though Rico is gone. I will sense her out as to how far the drugs have progressed. Once I have done that, I will use the excuse to go pee. I need to get a hair sample off a brush or comb or even a fingernail, which would be better. And from there I can make a very effective counter-drug. But this is no overnight miracle, Tom. It will act very fast initially but also take time to completely restore her memory. Fallon did a very wicked thing and there is no telling how much of that junk he put in her or what damage it has caused. So whatever you do, let me…."

A young woman suddenly approached from behind, walking rapidly along the sidewalk and looking down in anger as she swung her designer purse. "Excuse me, I need to get by." _Damned doctors_.

"Oh shit!" Tom heard that voice and he reacted verbally to it immediately. How couldn't he?

As he watched an unhearing B'Elanna pass, a sudden recollection jolted him. He was now on the Buchanan Triangle at the Academy. It was a beautiful San Francisco Friday afternoon, October 13, 2367. The time was burned into his brain like this now-looping video; it was 1035 hours. Time stopped then and things moved in slow motion. Tom and Charlie were senior cadet captains just minding their own business, talking about the weekend and finding some girls. Charlie was combing his short-blonde hair when he jabbed Tom in the ribs. All of a sudden there she was, an angry eighteen-year-old freshman in her cadet uniform strolling on by at a quick pace even as she rendered a casual salute, her mind wrapped up in engineering calculus. Paris stopped talking and just stared, his blue eyes locking onto her brown ones as he returned the military courtesy. Then she half turned and gave him a twisty grin but kept right on going, that beautiful ass of hers moving rapidly away. His mouth opened and went dry and he even felt a twinge in his uniform trousers. Tom asked his best friend who the hell she was, staring into her back and never wanting to look away. "B'Elanna Torres, good buddy. Max Burke's woman."

Tom forced himself to rip his eyes off of her. Somehow that young woman had touched his very soul. Then he looked at his 'brother' and said it. "Yeah, for now."

"B'Elanna! Bea!" He held out his arms, his face shining like the sunrise.

Flaxes froze in horror at the unexpected turn of events and hid her face away, pulling up her collar. If Torres saw her with Tom she would never be able to approach her again. She had to let this go on, as bad as it could be. Still, she managed to whisper, "Tom, don't say anything to provoke her."

Professor Lana Fallon turned around, her face showing nothing but irritation. "Are you talking to me? You certainly are bold! And obviously have me confused with someone else. Now leave me the hell alone. I'm in a bad mood."

Her husband reached out once more, so wanting to touch her again. "B'Ella, it's Tom! Don't you know me? I've come to bring you home. I…"

Fallon's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. Paris had seen this before and knew if he pushed that a broken nose was possible. "Stay away from me whoever you are! I am warning you! I'll call security." She reached in her purse and pulled out a paralyzer spray. Then her left hand cut across her body, palm downward as something incredible slipped out of her angry mouth. "Just stay away from me, Paris. You are a pig."

She turned and stomped off in a huff, pocketing the sprayer. But Tom suddenly lurched forward, grabbing her and spinning her around to say something. Lana's reaction was automatic, revealing the half-Klingon warrior she really was. Kneeing him in the crotch, she flipped him over onto his back and slammed her fist several times into his face. Then she ran off yelling for security.

Flaxes was tugging on Tom's arm and pulling him to his feet. "You idiot! Now is not the time. We have to get out of here!" Dropping Tom's arm, Neenah moved quickly towards the side gate.

Breathing through his mouth due to a broken nose and a cracked lip to boot, Tom was nonetheless euphoric and chuckling like he was nuts. He chased after the State's acting head shrink as if he was a puppy dog. They entered the street, ran across between the traffic and honking horns, and disappeared down an alley. Catching her, he rotated her towards him and put his hands on her shoulders. He was shaking. "Did you hear what she said? Did you _hear_ it?"

The psychiatrist rapidly nodded. "She called you 'Paris!' Oh Tom, she isn't that gone yet! You are right, she is so strong. You obviously know her so well." For no apparent reason, she hugged him hard then wiped the blood off his face using a tissue. Later she would realize that she hugged him because of a desperate need to feel special with someone. Her mind recalled what Tom had said about Charlie Day. Maybe somebody out there in the universe could love even her.

Tom responded and looked into her eyes, blue on blue. "No, you don't understand! It's those words. B'Elanna called me a pig on Voyager in a bar called Sandrine's. I was teasing her before we were friends and she got really angry. Never forgot that incident because I put it in my log. That's my Bea! My Bea! Let's go. She looks well and that's good enough for now."

They hit the next street to head back to her friend's apartment to cool off and ditch any pursuit. Tom stopped her once more as they entered the apartment building. "Oh, can you use this?" He opened his palm to reveal a handful of B'Elanna's hair.

/

"And this was when again? That is all he said, right? The connection isn't that good due to solar flares."

Lana calmed a bit and restated. "I said, six weeks ago, Rico! If you would actually contact me and return my messages I could tell you these things. How in the hell do I know what world you are on unless you call me? I told the Security Leader this. He said his name was Tom and asked if I recognized him. He called me a couple of names not familiar to me. Then he said something about taking me home. I was frightened and angry because I _was_ home. I mean, this was less than fifty meters from the building, for goodness sakes! And he pulled me towards him and hurt me. I hit him hard. But Rico even though you know I can take care of myself I wish you were here!" She chewed her thumb.

 _Think Rico. Tom Paris got to her somehow but nothing undone._

"Was he alone?"

Mrs. Fallon shook her head. "Someone was with him. A woman, I think. I did not see her face but she was taller than me. And I did not hear her say anything. Why?"

Her husband moved his eyes back and forth. "It means he has an accomplice. But you have not seen either one of them since, so that is good. Security is increased and I am checking with Neenah Flaxes and Remo Xingu about…umm…a suspect. And I talked with the Gen Hospital staff. Your file _was_ mixed up so you can go back now. I really want you to do that, Lana." He had burned a lot of favors on that one to prevent a major investigation over potential child abuse. "Oh, I think…." He was cut off as the signal failed.

It did not matter; the connection would soon reboot. There was a knock at the door, as the program began to reset. The half Klingon yelled from the home office, "Doreen, see who that is. I need to talk with Rico."

"Yes, Miss." The maid sauntered over to the door and looked through the peephole. There was Doctor Neenah Flaxes staring right back at her. She held up her security pass.

Doreen smiled in recognition and fussed with the sticky locks. _Need to get those greased_. The door opened and a man rushed in, causing the maid to start. Neenah spoke, "Doreen, I need a favor! A big one. It's complicated but all we need are five minutes with her. Then we are out of here. Please, this is for all of us."

Tom pushed past but Lana saw him. She screamed and locked the office door's emergency bars that turned the place into a safe room. Rico's image appeared as Lana yelled. "He's here! Oh, Rico, what am I going to do? There are two of them. I hit the security button but he's pounding on the office door."

 _Think Rico!_ "Okay. Lana, do exactly what I am about to tell you. Don't think, just do it. Your life depends upon it. He's insane. Do you hear me? He will kill you if you don't do this. Use the comm link earpiece."

Paris used the exoskeleton power to finally jerk the entire door off its hinges. Torres was sitting on her office chair, as calm as can be. She did nothing but look at him and then said, "What do you want, Tom?"

Her husband looked stunned and looked at his wife's head. "B'Elanna? Is that you in there?" She nodded. "Of course, who else do you think I am? So, Tom Paris. What do you want that you would just burst into my home like this?"

As Tom stood there, Neenah rushed by and went straight for Fallon. Lana did not resist and even introduced herself. But as she extended her hand and went to stand up, Neenah grabbed her left wrist and pressed an injector onto it, releasing the antidote. "We've got to get out of here, Tom! No time! Security has been called. That red button is flashing. Move!" She ran out.

But Paris hesitated because after over three years he was looking at his beautiful wife. "Honey, listen to me. I came to bring you back to Earth. Miral and I miss you and it's time to go home."

All he received was a blank look rendered with calmness and in a firm manner that was so very Torres. "No. I'm not going."

Tom stammered, his mind not contemplating what he just heard. "What? Why not? Bea!"

Fallon moved around the office, touching the back of a couch. "Because we have been apart too long. Because you abandoned me. I had no contact with Voyager. No contact with you. Everyone left me alone here. Now you just suddenly come here and say that you want me. But I have a husband now who loves me and we plan on starting a family. I am sure that Miral will be fine with you and everyone else. It is just that simple." She folded her arms and stood there defiantly, even though she was starting to feel a bit odd.

"You can't be serious!" Tom was furious and heartbroken. "This isn't your world, B'Elanna! Damnit, _we_ are married! I offered you the blood oath and you accepted. I came a billion light years to find you because I love you! Doesn't any of that mean anything to you?" He was crying now.

Fallon, however, remained passive and unruffled by his emotion. This guy was crazy and security would soon be here. She had to stall him. "No, it doesn't anymore. It once did, I know. But I have moved on, Tom. What we had once is over. I am happy here and here I will stay. And that is that." She put her hands on the couch and gave it a slight squeeze, as if she was finally wringing this guy out of her life.

Tom heard scuffling in the hallway and he had to go. He only had one chance left. So he reached around his neck and pulled off his chain with the wedding ring she had given him. "You gave this to me on our wedding day! It has our initials in it and says in Klingon, My Blood! You gave me your soul, B'Elanna! And I gave you mine, Our Blood! We are bonded forever. Don't do this!"

Suddenly Fallon felt that tug to her soul once more. She knew what she was about to say was so wrong. Inside Lana's brain a war was being waged as the antidote's advanced nanoprobes fought to cleanse her. But her life was at stake; Rico had told her that.

So in a plain vanilla tone, Professor Lana Fallon simply laid it out there. "Tom, I just don't love you anymore. Do you hear me? I don't love you. You will always be someone special to me, I suppose. But I love Rico Fallon now and I am married to him legally here on Gen. You are free to divorce me back there. I agree to it. Now I suggest that you leave before you are arrested. Goodbye, Thomas Eugene Paris. And give my regards to…Miral."

Tom's mouth hung open. That did it. How she could do this was beyond him. But she said it and she obviously meant it.

"Then that's it, B'Elanna Torres. You are dead to me." He threw his wedding ring at her, hitting her square in the chest. She ignored it, as its meaninglessness fell to the floor. "You gave that ring to me freely. Now I return it freely. I will let Miral know her mother died…with honor. But only for her sake." He backed up and for some reason Lana Fallon took a step away from the couch and then towards him, her mind fighting itself. She wanted to reach out to him but couldn't.

Tom steadied himself to speak his last words to her carefully so she would always remember them. "You are a Starfleet officer and Academy-educated, even if you did drop out and now hold temporary rank as a Lieutenant. You have violated your oath and service values by committing courts-martial offenses that you never would have done aboard Voyager. Sure, you can just blow that off because who is going to enforce any of that here? But when you take another person to yourself and sleep with them, you have soiled your honor. You have dishonored us, our daughter, and our sacred oath. But more than that, B'Elanna, you have dishonored your parents and your Klingon ancestors. Someday you will face all of them on the Barge of the Dead, as a dishonored Klingon. But more importantly, you will also be there as a dishonored human woman who will also die without honor. Honor meant something to you once; both your human and Klingon halves. But not anymore. This is nothing more than just indulgent sex with someone else, even if you think in your twisted brain that it is love."

His heart shattered, Paris turned and left, entering the hallway and straight into the arms of several individuals in white medical scrubs. Two of them injected him with something and in a few seconds he passed out but not before he saw a struggling Neenah in the custody of Magistrate Remo Xingu.

In the Fallon apartment, Lana touched the monitor screen, activating the image to see Rico once again. "I heard it all, Lana! Well done! That's my babe!" He signed off. _Glad that's over. Time for dinner._

Lana's broad grin slowly turned sour. Looking around as her mind cleared, she reached down and picked up that chain. Her mind was like the fog lifting as the morning sun burned it away. Her mouth began to move, recalling something that had happened years ago on the Delta Flyer II. She and someone, someone named…Paris…were just married and had made love for hours. But now they sat naked on their knees facing each other. The man, his name clear to her now, was Tom. Moments before he had asked her to take the Klingon blood oath to honor her. She agreed immediately so they had cut their left hands and joined them together. The words came back now and she said them aloud, as she kissed that ring.

"JiH Dok, maj dok, Tlinghan jIH!"

Smashing the earpiece against the wall, she ran past her shocked maid to fling herself into the now empty hallway. Sobbing, she screamed out the name of her husband.

"Tommy!"

/

A lot can happen in seven months and that was very true on Gen. So it was for Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris who was now propped up in front of the transfer portal, the one that would return him to the Delta Quadrant and Narcissus, the planet officially known as 'Seeded Planet 1-1-AA.'

This wasn't his idea, for he was in restraints. If he had his way he would be in the capitol right now trying to plead sense into his recalcitrant wife. But that was never going to happen because Tom Paris was going back and could never return, via this method anyway.

Many doctors had worked over him as he lay in traction for five months while having his spine removed, repaired, and replaced. That was done at Gen Hospital South, thousands of miles from B'Elanna. It was a gift from Magistrate Rico Fallon to get him out of sight. On some worlds, Tom would have just been killed and his body dumped in a bog or buried in plexi-concrete. But here murder was a State legal entitlement and no Gen could conceive of taking a life themselves. Paris had not committed a State crime by breaking down that door, just a local ordnance violation. So after paying a fine for entering uninvited, Tom would have simply repaired the door and been released. But that would have caused problems for Rico and raised questions with the authorities. The complex and lengthy surgical procedure kept Tom out of sight and out of mind. While the operation was successful, it was also a long process involving many procedures and a recovery requiring patience and time. But it was over now and Paris could now walk on his own once more, the exoskeleton heading off to the archives to be catalogued as a curiosity.

He could also be dragged. That was how he ended up in front of the 'mirror,' now fully charged after one year. Rico Fallon stood by grinning so hard he could not stand it. He nearly jumped up and down in his excitement.

"So Paris, this is good riddance!" He placed his hand near the portal screen but did not touch it. To do so would mean instant transport. "Such a great piece of tech for its time, don't you think? The early Gen made these things to remain on constantly. Advanced reconnaissance units of that era would show up in a galaxy after eons on Starships and then build this thing. A mirror image would appear on Gen _somewhere_ and the two became paired. The history books tell of some people wakening up to find one in their bathroom! The families were relocated, of course, although a few of the curious stepped through."

He stretched. "Back then the 'mirror,' as you refer to it, was always active and fully powered. So dozens and dozens of Gen could just walk back and forth in single file that often stretched for days. But only _one_ round trip per Gen. The concept of moving living beings this way was tricky to begin with. But the purpose was simple; you went through to colonize. If you did not like what you found or you changed your mind, you could come home. In your case, Paris, you came through _to_ Gen so you can go back. _Once_. Your DNA is the key code activator. That is how it is done."

Paris was struggling and cursing but it was no use. Four Wardens picked him up and held him horizontal.

"Don't worry about my little Lana. She will be just fine; I will take care of her and keep her pregnant like the good Gen wife she is. That bitch Neenah will get hers but in a different way now that she is in custody. You see, this portal has unfortunately been scheduled for destruction at some point. The government has a lot of them to get to before this one but it will be destroyed eventually. And when this one goes, so does its mate on your end. Don't be inside one when they detonate or you will be trapped in space forever." He laughed.

Then he patted Tom on his head. "I would like to say it was a pleasure but it wasn't. You are a persistent cuss, Commander Paris. I suppose love does that to people. But at least you know that she no longer loves you and actually despises you, thanks to me. Have a nice trip anyway. _Commander_." He nodded and his paid-off Wardens marched forward.

Tom was livid and fighting to no avail. "I swear, somehow Rico you are going to get yours. I wanted you to know that, you bastard!"

"Sure." A quick flip of Rico's hand and Tom was gone. The portal was now cold, fully drained of power.

/

Six months passed since Tom Paris arrived on Narcissus. There had been no one there when he came back except for a few Starfleet archeologists who nearly fainted when he appeared. They cut him loose from his bonds and after a lengthy conversation pointed to where the Delta Flyer II-B was parked. Ro Laren had convinced Starfleet to leave it there, as long as personnel were around.

Two months more and he made it back to the Alpha Quadrant aboard the Federation survey ship when the archeologists departed, their mission completed. Patrols would go by infrequently, for a while anyway. He checked in with Starfleet via MIDAS and his family was notified that he was alive. Miral was sobbing over their first MIDAS contact and she asked about her Mommy. Tom deflected that, saying he would fill the four-year-old in when he got back.

So here he was in San Francisco, having now spent a couple more months readjusting and dealing with everything that being away over a year had unleashed. Most of it was job-related stuff dealing with reports. Some missed payments to creditors were resolved. Miral, well, he just told her the truth, as she deserved. His princess did not take that very well and was in counseling now. He had tried so hard to explain but how do you tell a little girl that Mommy does not love Daddy anymore and preferred to stay where she was with her 'lover?' He felt so inadequate, unwanted, and unloved, even though he had Miral and his family. He converted to B'Elanna's traditional Hispanic family faith in seeking comfort. It helped.

In the dark of night the pain grew worse and he cried a lot. He had lost the only person in the universe for him, the woman that he knew was his and he was hers. Numerous sleepless nights were spent mulling over how to cope with the fact that he would never see her again in this life and maybe the next.

Finally, after so much reflection, he mustered enough energy to enter the arched doorways of the Richard Galen Institute for Intergalactic Archeological Studies carrying a box of yellow roses to perhaps give love more shot. He passed through security and looked at the floor directory, noting that the person he sought was on the fourth level. He shunned the elevator and took the stairs, moving slowly and deliberately. Pushing through the stairway fire door, he entered a corridor and turned to the left. There at the end of it was Doctor Ro Laren's office, her receptionist banging away on a touch pad.

The woman spoke without looking up. "May I help you?" Tom said 'Sure' with a command tone, which caused her to glance up. What she saw was a full commander now, having been promoted by a personnel selection board chaired by, you guessed it, now Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway. Paris was hand-picked to take over as First Officer of Voyager under Captain Chakotay. At first he said 'No,' the memory of him and B'Elanna aboard that ship was too strong. But Janeway pleaded with him and he could not refuse his mentor. So he would join the ship when it returned next month. Two months later after dry-dock overhaul, he would leave for a six month patrol in the Gamma Quadrant, as part of a joint Federation peacekeeping force with the Dominion.

"Commander! I'm sorry. I...how may I help you?" The secretary was obviously flustered.

Tom casually put the box of flowers on the floor. "I'm looking for Doctor Ro. Is she in?"

The secretary nodded and pushed a button. "Yes. She's with…."

At that time two giggling little girls ran out of Laren's office. They were clearly Bajoran and cute as a bug. He could not help but smile, for they reminded him of his own daughter. That was followed by Laren herself who was laughing. And then she looked up.

"Tom!" She ran to him and gave him a big hug, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks. And she noticed immediately that he was no longer wearing that exoskeleton. Stunned, she looked at him and knew that a lot of things had happened on the other side of that mirror. And a lot of things had happened here, as well, given her swelling belly.

Turning to the oldest girl, Lydia, she said, "Go tell Daddy that I am talking with an old friend. I won't be long."

"Okay, Mommy!" She skipped off with her sister and ran back to the office.

"Married?" He knew the answer to that question before he asked it. He saw her wedding ring and her pregnancy was obvious. Tom's observant eyes noted that her jingling d'ja pagh had changed to indicate she was a married woman.

"Yes. Six months now. I'm moving to Bajor to be with my husband. His name is Paratha Tem, and he is a famous Bajoran brain surgeon. And the Institute is opening a branch office there so I will head it. It worked out well…for us."

Tom laughed to himself. Such a joke life can be! Everyone gets the girl but him, as he considered all the broken relationships he had endured over time. "I'm happy for you, Laren. I didn't know that until right now but I am happy for you. Is he good to you?"

She nodded affirmatively and then saw he still was not wearing that ring. Overcome, she just burst into tears, her hands covering her face. Then she looked at him, her reddened eyes showing so much pain for him. "By the Prophets Tom, I am so sorry. Was she…?"

What could he say? Moving to a black leather couch together holding hands, Tom took about fifteen minutes to tell her the most important things. Doctor Ro never interrupted him. She held on to his hand, periodically giving it a comforting squeeze.

When he finished, Laren nodded, her mind turning over every detail. Then she said something that gave him pause as she managed a smile. "Tom, I know B'Elanna. What she said to you was not her. She was still drugged; had to be. You are blood-bonded! She loves you more than her own life! There is no way she is going to give you and Miral up. She may never come back but she will never stop trying."

Tom's eyes were dry; he was so numb now. Then he sort of smirked. "I suppose you are right. But I don't think that will happen. Everyone has to make choices in life and she made hers. I made mine. You did too. I think that Neenah was right when she said that some things were never meant to be. We had something very special once. Something so very special. And now it's gone. And I am lost."

"Tom, I wouldn't give up on her…."

"I have to go, Laren."

So they stood up. Tom gave Laren a hug and kissed her cheek. Turning away, he walked past the staring secretary to the door. Then he looked back. "On Narcissus you said I had to move on. You were right, Laren. Starfleet will do that for me. I suppose I would have been better off not going after her but I had to know. And when I found her I had to hear her _tell me_ to my face that she wanted someone else. That another person could make her feel so alive…and wanted…and cherished…and loved. I thought I was that person. But she doesn't need me anymore."

He stood in the doorway, his right hand up signaling the Bajoran farewell. "Goodbye, Laren. Voyager will dock at Bajor next year, if we hold to schedule. I will drop by and see how you are doing. Take care, Mommy!"

"You too, Daddy." The flowers long forgotten, the door closed and with it another chapter in Tom Paris' life.

The Starfleet commander glanced at his PADD personal messages, as he walked to the elevator. He chose one of them that just came out of the blue from someone he barely remembered. Reading it, his mind moved back in time to recall a smiling and youthfully beautiful face. _That was so long ago._ After composing a quick message, he transmitted a response.

/

"So then I said to Deputy Magistrate Ferine, if that is the way you are going to be you can just take your new desk and drop it off a cliff. I mean, who quibbles over the size and color of furniture anyway?"

Magistrate Rico Fallon was in his element, drinking, eating, and hobnobbing with the 'bigs' on Denarii II, as part of his initial 'domain' tour. Numerous officials inquired about his wife but she still had not had that surgery. He certainly was not about to parade her around looking like that. So he told her to remain on Gen until she did. And Lana was more than glad to do it.

Unbeknownst to him as he poured another snappy Gen tonic into his willing maw, events were transpiring that would affect his life dramatically. In fact, it was happening right now as he observed the arrival of good friend and confidant Magistrate Remo Xingu, the Chief of Gen Security. Fallon knew that he had no reason to be here nor to be accompanied by the local Chief of Security and a dozen-odd security personnel. _His life was in danger!_ There were assassins about on this world, brutish ones. He was important. Fearfully, he hurried to meet them.

"Remo! My old friend! You are looking well. How are the wife and kids? And what brings you out here so far from Gen?" His fingers drummed his drink glass, the ice tinkling furiously.

"The family is fine, Rico. Unfortunately, you are not."

He knew it. His life _was_ in danger. That damned whore! He never should have screwed her and her twin sister last night, although having a threesome was pleasurable. The Qumran Quarter was such an unsavory area. He had lost his purse so they must have followed him here.

"Have you caught the culprits? So many disagreeable people on this planet."

Xingu nodded, his 'bracelets' coming out of their holder. "How true. But there is going to be one less."

Ah! Good! "How's that? Caught the person already? Nice detective work for…umm…catching who or whom you are pursuing."

"Indeed." Remo pulled out a pocket compiler and called up a document that he now read. "Magistrate Rico Fallon, by the power of the State of Gen I am hereby arresting you. You are charged with crimes against the State for the use of illegal narcotics to enchain a registered alien into slavery, seduce and addict said alien for the purpose of sexual gratification, doing so while knowing full well that said alien was married legally on her world and this was against her free will, kidnapping her husband, sequestering him away to endure an operation without his permission, and then removing her husband from Gen under force and without mercy. Each of these charges is a State capital crime and if convicted is punishable by the State Courts and laws of Gen. Which in this case would be death from being torn apart by wild Dayan dogs."

"Why, this is outrageous! You can't be serious!" Rico dropped his drink.

A woman stepped forward, one with strong bearing and a no-nonsense demeanor. "Oh, he is very serious, Magistrate. I am Gen State Chief Attorney Trevena Dorsten, Foremost Prosecutor of the Sovereign Courts. You may have heard of me."

Fallon gulped. He bowed, as required. Dorsten only took cases where women were victims and the death penalty was assured. All Gen lawyers and judges were women; the Gen founders had understood brutish men all too well. It was a useful way to control certain males' foul behavior. Dorsten had never lost a case in fifteen years. Now Rico fainted.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Get this…person out of here. In chains."

/

Two women ran for their lives across the fens that led to the transport portal now being prepared for demolition. It had been nearly a year since Tom Paris had left and the Gen government was about to obliterate the only portal back to the Delta Quadrant.

"Hurry, Neenah, we don't have much time!" B'Elanna Torres' overworked lungs pounded as she nearly dropped her backpack. Can't lose that; what was in there meant survival on Narcissus, if they got there.

Torres was grateful that destroying portals proved nearly impossible, even for the Gen. These things existed in a shadow state, partially here and partially there. Explosives did not work and neither did quasar cannons or any other type of one-plane weapon. What did work was electrical overload, running the portal charge to full capacity so it operated as it had before, allowing any number of beings to walk through. Then a technician, from a safe distance mind you, pumped radioactive isotopes through a dispersal unit into the charging grids, forcing an overload. Depending on the condition of the individual gate, the device would eventually short-circuit, for want of a better term, and then 'desolidify.' A pool of leftover goop was then easily removed for salvage with the same thing happening on the other end.

B'Elanna and Neenah leapt over the last safety barrier with several Warden Trackers hot on their heels. The pre-demolition warning siren sounded so the officers held up, deciding that the two were doomed anyway. Torres arrived at the portal first, puffing and with her hands on her knees while waiting for her now very good friend. When Neenah arrived, she was frightened and apprehensive. Torres tossed the backpack into the portal and it disappeared, draining off a tiny bit of energy. "Go!"

The Clinical Psychiatrist hesitated. "I'm not sure I can do this, B'Elanna. I'm leaving everything behind. My life! My career! Friends and colleagues! And my patients! My patients! You go alone. You have Tom. I have no one."

B'Elanna shook her head vehemently and grabbed the Gen shrink. "No! We agreed. Both of us or no one. We can't stay because we will be on the run forever. You provided the evidence that killed that bastard! And I testified. Rico's cronies will track us down and who knows what will happen then! Banishment? Prison? I've had enough prisons in my life, real and in my brain. No more! Take my hand!"

The signal flag dropped. The isotopes flowed.

"Choose damnit! Hurry!"

"I…." Neenah turned to pull away but stopped. Something suddenly told her to go. She did not know what it was initially; it just called to her. And then she saw Tom, talking to her by that fountain about his best friend. Grabbing B'Elanna's hand she took a leap of faith and jumped into the portal. Seconds later, it melted.

/

Darkness then fluttering eyelids. The air was crisp and clean in the obvious early morning twilight. Just the buzzing of insects and a light breeze. B'Elanna Torres felt her body looking for broken bones. Finding none, she groaned and rolled onto her knees. "Neenah?"

Looking around she saw her Gen compatriot drinking water from a brook. "Fresh and safe! I checked using your Quadcorder. I hope we are where we are supposed to be."

"And where are you supposed to be…umm…Miss?"

Both Neenah and B'Elanna turned to that voice to see three officers wearing Starfleet uniforms. B'Elanna crossed herself. "Thank God! Starfleet! Is this Narcissus, I hope?"

The shorter Hispanic officer nodded. "Yes. I am Lieutenant Oscar Mendez, Deputy Security Officer aboard the USS Constellation. This is Ensign Rene Chu, also security." Chu nodded, her Phaser rifle armed. "And this is Starfleet Archeologist Warrant Officer Three Donna Lombard of the Richard Galen Institute for Intergalactic Archeological Studies on Bajor. And you are…?"

Bajor? An archeological institute there? _Humm_. Torres now recalled that she was indeed a Starfleet officer. "I am Starfleet Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres. I am…I was…Chief Engineer on the USS Voyager. I've been away five years now. This is 2384, isn't it?" She had seen too much in the Delta Quadrant not to ask.

Ensign Chu replied while Mendez spoke into his comm. "Yes, Ma'am, it is. Stardate 60881.86. That would be 23 October by the old calendar.

 _Almost Tom's birthday! November 13! Turns thirty-eight._ "And this is Neenah…."

The official pushed past and introduced herself. "I am former State Chief Clinical Psychiatrist Doctor Neenah Flaxes of the Gen."

Another voice broke in. "You look Bajoran."

B'Elanna turned, as did Neenah. Torres' mouth opened in recognition of a Starfleet Commander and she saluted out of old habit. He returned it. But Neenah's blue eyes were fixed on a pair of blue orbs; the officer was staring at her with the air of confidence a Starship Captain inherently possessed. And there was something else there, something neither one of them had felt for a very long time.

"I heard the intros over the comms and I had to beam down. I'm Charlie Day, Captain of the USS Constellation. Sorry to tell you this, Lieutenant Torres, but Starfleet has you listed as missing in action. Your return means an official investigation. Inquiries by the dozen. Mounds of paperwork. Riots in the streets. Mayhem. And...Miral will be over the moon." Then he grinned and held out his arms. "B'Elanna!"

"Charlie!" She had not seen him since the Academy and he was tall and so very handsome. And older and more mature. His command bearing reminded her of Tom. She hugged him and he returned it, as Torres laughed and explained to Neenah who he was.

The Gen's face flushed. "I know who he is. Tom told me about you, Commander Day. Or, is it Captain? I am very glad to meet you." _Oh, so very glad!_

The Starfleet officer smiled. "It's Charlie. And Tom told me about you, as well. But I never thought I would meet you let alone see anything like…you. Umm…sorry for staring." _Tom was so right. She's beautiful._ His officers did what good subordinates do and heard nothing. The team archeologist was busy inspecting the contents of Torres' backpack.

"Oh, I don't mind. Not one bit." Neenah was nearly vibrating. She had never felt a connection like this before.

Now Torres asked a very anxious couple of questions. "Charlie, how is Tom? How's my little girl?" She was biting her lower lip with worry.

Day looked around. "Last I saw Miral she was fine. Big. Coming up on what, six, in a few months? She looks a lot like her parents. Mirror image, really. Has your forehead ridges, brown hair, and brown eyes. Tom's smile and sense of humor. She is smart like her Mommy, according to her Daddy."

Torres beamed and then got serious. She so wanted to see them both and to beg Tom's forgiveness. He would understand that it wasn't her. He once forgave her for Steth and a lot of other things that had happened to her in the Delta Quadrant, as well.

"And Tom? I asked about him also."

Day shifted a bit, his fingers fidgeting. He had heard her. "Tom. Yeah. Well, he's…umm…okay. On Voyager. A full commander now and First Officer under Captain Chakotay. Look, let's get the two of you settled, cleaned up, and fed. Then we will need to talk, B'Elanna. About…Tom. But later. He's…umm…. Well, we just need to talk."

Torres had a very bad feeling. Her insides were gnawing at her once more. "What's going on, Charlie? You're his best friend. No secrets. And I'm his wife." She knew. Tom had moved on. Her heart sank.

"Not now, Lieutenant." He hit his comm badge, back in command mode. "Day to Transporter 3. Beam up landing party and guests."

/

Six hours later, B'Elanna pushed a chime button, once again in a Starfleet uniform that reflected her surprising permanent commission and long-delayed promotion to Lieutenant Commander. Because of MIDAS she was back in the Starfleet fold and found that to be very comforting. It was a privilege to be serving once more.

"Thanks for seeing me, Captain. I couldn't sleep."

He motioned her inside and the door closed. "Congrats again on your commission and promotion, B'Elanna. I was honored to do that ceremony for you with Tom being absent. And its Charlie in here. We're family. Have a seat." He fished around in an old ice bucket for some obsolete cans. "I have some real Coca Cola, diet or regular, if you can believe that. They just found the old recipes somewhere and replicated them. And this is my favorite, Dr. Pepper. Tom likes it."

"I'll try the Dr. Pepper." She had one. "Not bad! Fruity." She swallowed some more pop. "Well? About Tom?"

He leaned back and then forward, looking her straight in the eye. "B'Elanna, Tom told me what you said to him on Gen. To be both blunt and truthful, you destroyed him. He doesn't handle rejection as it is and you crushed him. Tom hasn't filed for divorce but you are dead as far as he is concerned. And...umm...Miral needs a mother."

B'Elanna stared. Her fists balled and mouth tightened. That bastard Rico Fallon had destroyed her life. Brushing back her hair with her left hand revealed her recovered wedding ring that now glinted under a spotlight that focused upon her chair. Its mate was on its chain, worn around her neck under her tunic. Her blood was up, just as it was on Sakari IV.

"Who is she, Charlie?" _I'll kill her._

That got a grunt. "I expected that. She's Starfleet. I downloaded a PADD copy of her unclassified personnel file here. Thought you might want it. She gets along with Miral and is begging Tom to terminate your marriage officially and get engaged. But so far he has said no. Just intensely dating her when he can, as far as I can tell. They just came off a month's leave together on Titus X. He wanted to see if they could connect. Separate rooms, no funny stuff, according to Tom and I believe him. But I know she's wearing him down. She's a very persuasive and efficient officer that one, according to people I know. Gets what she wants. Sorry."

Torres was steaming as Charlie fiddled around with the file. "Evidently met Tom around the time he became Maquis. Kind of vague how they met. She had to be real young then. A teenager, probably seventeen? His being a lot older must have impressed her then but he never said peep to me about her. Maybe there are family connections? Don't know and Tom won't say."

B'Elanna grimaced. Tom had 'impressed' a lot of women when he was younger. But usually not that young. He was no cradle robber.

Charlie flipped through the file. "Okay. Let's see. Starfleet Academy Class of 2375. Bottom-feeder degree in Psychology. Nothing remarkable academically, barely upper third. She's thirty-one now. Young!"

Instinctively, Torres felt her face looking for wrinkles. _Do I look old? I'm only thirty-five, for Kahless' sake!_

Charlie was rolling along. "Currently serving a two-year remote assignment to Deep Space Nine, as a counselor according to the file. As I recall, Voyager is due there for a minor overhaul in four months when they come off boundary patrol near the Bajoran wormhole." He leaned over and handed B'Elanna the file while saying, "Awards and decorations are updated. Wow. A Lieutenant Commander already; just promoted last month! She's a stud. Maybe you know her." He handed her the image. "Keep the PADD, B'Elanna. Her file is not restricted. She signed the release for what's there." He swigged some Dr. Pepper, awaiting the typical Torres explosion he knew so well.

Scrutinizing that official holopicture, B'Elanna's eyes rose. _Shit_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 Soulmates

The chime sounded, a door whooshed open, and Voyager's First Officer Commander Tom Paris stepped into his Starship Captain's private office with PADD in hand.

Captain Chakotay grinned at his smiling 'Number One.' "Right, Tom. Just barge right in like you own the place." But he was far more concerned about what was on his PADD. _How the hell do I handle this one?_

Tom took his usual seat, placing his device with its umpteen messages on the conference table. "You did say your door was always open to me, Captain! And Ensign Rhigolene said it was very important." Per Starfleet tradition, a ship's First Officer required no permission to enter or salute when reporting to his commanding officer. If the door was unlocked, he was free to go in. The two officers were strong friends anyway, so much different than the way things were on the Val Jean and even in the Delta Quadrant.

"Any coffee, Skipper?" _I hope not._ _His coffee tastes like he flies, rough and bumpy._

Chakotay nodded then reached for the heating carafe and poured out two cups of steaming lumpiness. "Still take it black, Tom? I think you really take it just like someone else we know. Any way you can get it." He chuckled with that fond memory. He had his differences with then-Captain Kathryn Janeway but coffee wasn't one of them.

Paris laughed. "Yeah. We're such spitting images in every way. I've been her personal life-long work-in-progress since she was Dad's science officer way back when."

Chakotay chuckled as he flipped through his PADD. "You got that right! I can hear Kathryn saying just that." Tom snorted in response, as he sipped that brackish liquid. Terrible stuff, but no excuse. _He_ had invited the wrath of the caffeine god by asking for it.

Now the Mayan descendant fidgeted a bit with a particular PADD document that he had received an hour ago. "This initial report of yours on the slipstream drive issue is bad. More than that to tell the straight skinny. Bad enough to pull us off patrol. What does Engineering have to say about it?"

Tom rubbed his chin, which for some reason had been itchy lately. The Doctor had prescribed a salve. "Lieutenant Borzcik thinks the harmonic resonators are shot. I looked at them. They are but we don't have all the diagnostics yet. Could be worse than that. The good news is that Mike assures me that we can limp into Deep Space Nine and access their overhaul facility. As you know we were going there anyway, just sooner now. Looking at a month's travel there at full impulse." He blinked a bit, his eyes adjusting to the lower office light.

Chakotay was watching Paris closely. He apparently had not heard the news he had received twenty minutes before.

Tom felt a bit nervy with the close scrutiny he was receiving and he knew something was up. He sipped some coffee and pretended to enjoy it, even smacking his lips. That did not stop the glare so he continued. "Our Chief Engineer is good but Mike's no overhaul specialist. Plus he's a short timer. His long-denied reassignment to Deep Space Two came through this morning. He leaves upon arrival."

Then a thought entered his head, one he really did not want there. "I wish we had B'El…." Tom stopped short before resurrecting a very painful memory. Chakotay did not move but he had heard it.

The First Officer regrouped and then uttered, "Umm...I sent a message to their ops folks to expect us earlier and to make sure we had a docking berth. We're good. Slipstream engines are tricky, so we don't have an estimate for repair time and parts have to come from various depots. If it is extensive damage, we will need to be towed to San Francisco or the Mars ship yard. Unless of course we can figure out a workable alternative."

Now Chakotay moved. God, he hoped a tow was not required but on the plus side he could see his wife, Annika, again. This was an irritating delay but there was nothing they could do about it. Half in jest but in good humor, he slipped Paris a probing question and watched for his reaction. "Only one message to the station, Tom?"

Paris blinked. _So subtle, like a warp core breech._ The California native began tapping his PADD device on the desk, his mind a billion light years away thinking about a certain engineer. "Yes, I took the liberty, Sir. MIDAS time is precious out here so I piggy-backed voice-only onto the official one. Just a 'Hey, how's it going' so she knows I'm thinking about her. I can put myself on report or flog myself with a wet noodle. I like noodles." He smirked.

Chakotay answered forthrightly. "Tom, you know you didn't violate any regulations, as long as there is DataStream space. I got one from Annika the same way in the morning dump from Starfleet."

"How is she doing?" Chakotay had married the former Seven-of-Nine three years ago and she now called herself Annika Hansen. Then-Rear Admiral Janeway was noticeably absent from the ceremony and had sent her regrets. Cited migraines.

That question spawned an interesting look from Voyager's Captain, one of delight and concern. "Thanks for asking. Typical for being a bored Academy scientist at home while being due next month. She's big as a house. Cranky. Lonely. But still her pragmatic self. She agreed to our marriage and my simultaneous appointment as Voyager's Captain so she knows the deal. I am thankful, Tom, that your family keeps tabs on her. I miss her and I'm anxious and I'm not the one carrying our daughter. I guess it will take some adjustment to becoming a Daddy."

Paris shook his head. "Not really, Sir. Just sorta happens."

"When?" Chakotay had been wondering, the thought of being a father kept slithering around inside his skull like a snake.

Tom's mind wandered back to his married quarters on Voyager's Deck Three about six years ago or so. He was off-shift dressed in a robe and pajamas while watching cartoons on that antique television B'Elanna had made for him. Then he got the call that his wife had collapsed in Engineering and was beamed directly to Sickbay. The popcorn bowl flew out of his lap and he ran to the turbolift. It was too slow in arriving so he jerked open a Jeffries tube access cover, ripping his hand. He bled all over himself climbing down to Deck Six and sprinted to Sickbay. And there she was, the EMH casually checking her blood pressure. And that face of hers was just beaming. "We're pregnant, Daddy!"

Tom was stunned. This was a true miracle, for a human and human-Klingon to conceive. Then his reaction came back to him, clear now as if it just happened. He took her left hand in his left one and gazed into those brown pools of hers. Kissing her lips and forehead, he spoke with emotion. "I love you, Mommy."

That memory invoked a grin that quickly faded. "Right when she tells you. And you know it. But everyone reacts differently and so much for a trip down memory lane. Now if there is nothing else, Captain, I need to go over the semi-annual officer fitness reviews before I send them to you for concurrence."

Chakotay sat up a bit and handed Tom his PADD. "There is one more thing, Tom. The morning dump also had this message in it. Sent 'Personal For' to me to expedite it via MIDAS. But it is actually for you. It's from Vice Admiral Janeway at Starfleet Headquarters Personnel Division. It's a copy of Captain Charlie Day's official patrol report from Narcissus. Read the executive summary. It's at the top."

Tom was a bit baffled as to why Charlie's routine report would be sent to him through the Vice Admiral. Still, it would be nice to read anything from his old running buddy. He inspected it with typical interest, glancing up to see Chakotay sitting there with his left elbow on the chair arm and his hand propping up his chin. He was watching him again with scrutiny looking for a reaction.

Five paragraphs and the signature block later, Tom's face remained a blank page. He carefully placed the PADD down as if it were made of blown glass. "If there is nothing else, Sir."

Chakotay twisted a bit and spoke with feeling. "Look, Tom. Anytime, you know that. If you need someone else to talk with I have a priority MIDAS channel to Starfleet we can use. I think Commander Deanna Troi is the Headquarters Chief Counselor now. She's damned good."

Still blank; Paris was as cool as a block of ice. "Yes, Sir. I know of her. But I have my own counselor. She's damned good too, in a lot of ways."

That elicited a head shake and what could be considered either a firm warning or friendly advice, depending. "Seeing Lieutenant Commander Dax over this development is really not a good idea, Tom."

"With all due respect, Sir, Ezri's a professional. No problem. Now, those reviews. I need to get to them. Please."

 _Typical First Officer, all the way_. Voyager's Captain nodded and indicated Tom could go, which he did.

Chakotay spun around in his chair a couple times, nearly spilling his coffee. Starship captains are no slouch when it comes to assessing crew behavior and he had noticed several things about Tom's conduct during that session. When Tom was reading that report he was calm. But after standing up to leave, a twinkle in his eye showed incredible relief. And Chakotay noticed one more thing. As he left, Tom was unconsciously rubbing his empty left ring finger.

/

"Miral, are you still not dressed yet? You'll miss the transport for school! Move it, young lady!"

A grunt came from down the hallway. "I'm not going. I'm sick. Have a fever." _Cough_. _Cough_. "See?"

As a mother, even a long-absentee one, Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres knew her daughter was faking. She was acting out once more, the result of discovering she indeed had a Mom and not just aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents who had often rotated responsibility for her with Tom away.

In the few months Torres had been back, the mid-grade officer had moved into Federation-provided quarters separate from Tom's, in-processed Starfleet once more and received gobs of back pay. She also visited someone very special yesterday. That office call had given her hope. She now had a good chance to make things right. And she was taking it.

For several weeks now, Torres was burning up accumulated leave trying to get to know the now six-year-old little girl she had last held as an infant. Miral would have none of it. Pushing her mother away or hiding in her room under the bed or in a closet was customary. She would not call B'Elanna her 'Mommy' or 'Mom.' Not even a slight touch or cuddle; she would cry out in bogus pain if her mother even tried to touch her. Miral barely even spoke to her without prompting.

B'Elanna was miserable not only because of Miral but also because she missed her husband terribly. But had taken the counselor's advice for patience and was not pushing too hard. Like mother, like daughter; they were both very stubborn. So she worked with Miral best she could and had not yet tried to contact Tom, thinking that it would be better to see him in person once he returned to Earth.

"You're not sick, Honey. I watched you get your clothes out and you do not have a fever. I have your lunch ready and make sure you eat your applesauce this time. Get your backpack with your homework and PADDs, and…."

"Why is your duffle bag packed?" Miral was staring around her bedroom door with her head cocked to one side.

So that was it _this_ time. Torres looked down the hallway at her daughter. "Because I have to go away, for a while. I'm going to Deep Space Nine. Voyager is broken there and I was told to go fix it."

Miral came out of her room wearing her blue and white school jumper. _Voyager!_ Suddenly she perked up, asking a question that was really exclamatory. "Will you see Daddy?"

A pause and a nod. She was going there on official orders and Tom would indeed be there. "Yes."

"Wait!" Miral ran back into her room. A minute later she returned. "Give this to Daddy. A present." She handed two objects over and snagged her backpack and lunch bag. With a couple skips, she headed for the door.

B'Elanna looked at what had been placed in her hand. The first item was a hastily scrawled note, scribbled in pink crayon by a child's unskilled hand. It said, "Love u Daddy Miral" and there was a small heart drawn there in red. The other was something that Miral cherished nearly as much as the Targ doll Tom gave her for her birthday. It was a framed holopicture that had been taken on Voyager by the EMH years ago. Tom and B'Elanna were in Sickbay. Torres was in a medical gown sitting up on a biobed with Miral in her arms, gazing down at her newborn baby with a mother's love. Tom was standing behind B'Elanna, his arm around her as he looked over her shoulder, smiling down at his daughter for the first time. He was touching his offspring's forehead.

"That's so nice, Sweetheart." Then suddenly she just could not stand it anymore. "Miral, can…will you please come here. Please, Honey."

The little girl turned to that voice then dropped her bags and tentatively walked over. B'Elanna picked her up and was surprised that Miral allowed her to do it, wrapping her legs around Mom's waist with her hands behind her neck.

B'Elanna touched her own forehead ridges and then her daughter's. "Look at me, Sweetheart. What do you see?"

Miral leaned back just a bit and felt her mother's forehead. "I see me. Like my reflection. What do you see?"

 _Progress_. _I see progress._ Torres' eyes watered, as she went nose-to-nose, her brown orbs peering deeply into her daughter's brown eyes. "What do I see? A mirror. The mirror to my soul. In you I see my blood; our blood, your Daddy's and mine; and my Klingon heritage; and my honor as a woman and mother and Starfleet officer; and the Paris and Torres families; all passed on to you. In a few years, you will understand all of that." Miral looked deeply into her Mom's brown eyes and tears suddenly formed. They spilled over and ran down her cheeks. B'Elanna let them flow undisturbed. Finally, her daughter was healing.

B'Elanna spoke softly with emotion. "I know this is not easy for you, Miral. But I promise you I will do everything I can to get Daddy back. I love him so much but it is not my decision. He has to choose to do it."

Miral nodded, sniffed, and wiped her own face. Then she put her head on B'Elanna's strong shoulder and her mother slowly spun her around to head to the door. Picking up the school bags she entered the elevator. They descended and then went outside to the bus stop. There was the hoverbus, patiently waiting. The driver wasn't too late and he knew how stubborn Miral could be.

B'Elanna put her daughter down and waved goodbye. "Grandma Julia will pick you up after school. I'll be back in six months. I love you, Miral! You and Daddy are everything to me!" _Maybe someday you can love me._

The bus door opened and Miral Paris walked up the steps, scuffing her shoes as she went. Suddenly, she turned around and ran back to give her Mother a hug, the first one since B'Elanna's return. Miral looked up at her shocked but relieved Mom and smiled that Tom Paris grin of hers.

"Daddy loves you, Mommy. He told me before he left for the space station. And I love you too."

/

Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres walked up the boarding ramp at the Starfleet San Francisco space port, waving goodbye to the USS Constellation's Captain Charlie Day and Psychiatrist Neenah Flaxes who came to see her off. The two were holding hands; having hit it off fast on the return trip from Narcissus. Now in vacation clothes, Charlie was on leave and they were taking his private shuttle to Verona, Italy, just as soon as they saw B'Elanna off. She was so happy for them. Day had told her he was going to pop the question and he was scared to death. B'Elanna, however, knew what the answer was going to be. It was already there in Neenah's eyes. They were soulmates.

This morning had been a whirlwind of family goodbyes filled with tears and laughter. As much as she hated to leave, none of this would have been possible without the person she owed so much. Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway.

Yesterday, B'Elanna had visited her former Captain, career Starfleet officer, and the damned good woman she had come to view as her older sister and mentor, given fourteen years difference in age. There had been the usual pleasantries when they met once more, followed by lengthy hugs, ample wet eyes, and even a couple kisses on the cheek. Torres was obviously stressed and Janeway looked much older; her red-dyed hair covering up more than a few grey ones and there were wrinkles from age and the pressures of Starfleet. Still slim she also looked sad, as if she had lost someone very dear.

A lot passed silently between these two as they held steaming mugs of raktajino in their hands. At the time, both officers were staring out of the twenty-seventh floor of Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco.

Torres spoke first, breaking the silence. "Admiral, I wish this visit was a social call under more pleasant circumstances. I thank you for seeing me on short notice."

Kathryn turned to her former Chief Engineer. "How could I not? You are the best damned engineer I have ever known, an incredible woman, and a devoted wife and mother. And on top of that, you make more than a decent _gagh_. Who wouldn't see you on short notice?"

They laughed. Janeway really hated _gagh_. But she did view herself at times as Torres' older sister. Maybe even a surrogate mother if truth be told, although she wasn't that much older. On Voyager, their bond had been tighter than the crew ever knew, except perhaps for Chakotay and Tom.

Their time on Voyager was why Torres went straight to her now weeks after being reunited with Miral and meeting her estranged husband's family. And also after seeing her father, John Torres, who surprisingly did his best to mend kilometers of broken fences. It was difficult for both of them but his being a loving grandpa did a lot to make that happen. B'Elanna smirked at yet another case of what she now called 'Miral Magic.' That girl could reunite the Red Sea with that smile of hers.

"Admiral, I know I just got back a few weeks ago but I need a favor."

That was no surprise. Janeway knew what it was but asked anyway. "Personal or professional? I am much better at the latter than the former."

"Maybe both, Ma'am. I need some answers and I need a job. A specific job that a three-star can pull off. Dad, Admiral Paris that is, said I should ask you because you handle Alpha Quadrant personnel assignments."

Janeway acknowledged that statement. "Owen gave me a heads up. But lets start with defining the problem and then seeking the answer. I taught you that."

"You did." They had more coffee and moved to a small conference table. "The problem is that I have lost my husband because of what happened on Gen. What I said there was...horrible. You know that. It's in my report."

"A very personal account, I might add." The Vice Admiral had read it and was shocked at its thoroughness. "You laid it all out there. I don't know if I could have been that revealing. I am so very proud of you, B'Elanna. You have come a long way. You honor your family and I mean that sincerely." Janeway was never mushy like Tom and that was as close as she could get. But it was heart-felt nonetheless.

Torres wiped a tear away. "Thank you, Ma'am. That means a lot. In my view, this whole thing is a case of temporary insanity on both our parts and no different than the never-ending crap we all experienced in the DQ. But in this case there is a real threat to my marriage, a clear and present danger. As I recall from reading Sun Tzu at the Academy, you must know your enemy and know yourself. Right now I know myself better than I really want to. Now I must know my enemy."

"You are speaking of course about Lieutenant Commander Ezri Dax."

"'Yes, Ma'am. That…Starfleet officer."

"She's not the enemy, Commander. She isn't Borg or the Dominion."

"Different quadrants, same difference." B'Elanna was outwardly calm but spitting venom inside. "I need to know where Tom met her and what might have motivated her to contact him. Charlie Day thinks it has something to do with the Maquis."

"It does." Janeway slid open a drawer and pulled out a much-stained folder containing a sheaf of papers. She tossed it on the table. The cover sheet was marked 'Declassified;' over-stamping what had once been 'Top Secret: Nebula.'

"This the file on Project Nebula, B'Elanna. That was the program I used to pull your husband out of career oblivion in New Zealand to track down the Val Jean. Prison had screwed him up badly and he needed a place to recover and prepare. So we decided that place should be near a Maquis recruiting area, a region known for picking up strays, lost souls, and riff raff who were interested in joining a cause."

Torres recalled those Maquis days. "I resembled that remark back then." There was a lot of truth in those six words.

"True at the time, B'Elanna. I suppose even Starfleet can be considered a cause. I think we all go through that at some point. Joining something more important than ourselves. Anyway, Tom went to New Sydney, a large mining colony rife with labor strikes and disgruntled workers. Prime Maquis recruiting grist when you can pick through lots of overworked, underpaid, and pissed off young people with strong backs and arms. Tom Paris fit in as a cocky pilot and disgraced Starfleet officer looking to prove himself. While he was sniffing around, his boyish charm allowed him to meet Yanas Tigan, the very wealthy mining magnate. She had a seventeen-year-old daughter, Ezri. When you read Tom's report, he wasn't shy about describing her. Same height and hair as you but with blue-steel eyes. You've seen her current official photo, I take it."

"Yes, Admiral. She's beautiful." Torres was reading carefully while listening intently.

"Again yes but she's no rival, B'Elanna. We both know your husband. He loves you more than, well...I know Tom."

B'Elanna looked up and bit her lip. "I hope he still does. I can't take this much longer."

Janeway reached out and touched her hand. "Be patient with him. Take it slowly. It will take time but it will work out. I'm confident in you both. As for those two, they are doing nothing illegal right now. No Starfleet regulation prohibits a married officer from having a close friendship with a single officer of any gender and even going on vacation together, if it's consensual. But the courts-martial line gets crossed when sex is involved or if there is a senior-subordinate relationship violation. You know Starfleet is very sensitive to any hanky-panky that affects discipline and I don't think it is the case here. But I do recall two unmarried young officers having 200 reprimands _combined_ on Voyager, all for inappropriate behavior in Jeffries tubes, corridors, and other places like your private work station. B'Elanna."

The half-Klingon flashed her teeth and offered a shrug. "Sorry, Ma'am! We were kind of out of control back then. Aliens were on board messing with us, as you recall."

Janeway smiled. "Of course. And also your raging hormones on a very small ship." Janeway flipped through some pages and stopped at a particular spot. "We were watching Tom carefully because then-Lieutenant Tuvok did not trust him. So I can tell you that all of his movements and actions are in here. There was nothing sexual, although Ezri was infatuated with him. A world-class crush. No surprise there, given Tom Paris. But that is not why she contacted him now, as far as I can tell anyway. It is what he did for her _then_."

B'Elanna was all ears. "What Tom did for her?"

"Yes. You know she is a Trill. And she should remind you of someone who was also rebellious by nature and lacked a father figure. Like you, she was desperate to get away from her domineering mother. The Maquis recruiters offered a regimented family-type environment with a warrior ethos. Here was a place to devote herself to something bigger than herself and vent her frustration. A small shuttle was waiting that would have taken her to a major Maquis ship. But Tom talked her out of it."

"Why?" That was odd. Why should Tom get involved? That was her business.

"Why. Let's think about it. From his report they hit it off as friends. They liked each other; she more than that obviously. When he found out what she was up to he told her that unlike him she was too good to waste her life doing that. She needed more structure, yes, but the Maquis was a rough and tumble outfit that required physical and mental toughness. You know that, B'Elanna. You were Maquis. So he told her they would eat her like a jelly doughnut and throw her out or she would die very fast in battle facing the Cardassians. Tom convinced her to apply for the Academy instead with the promise that if she was accepted she would go and if not then she could join the Maquis."

"Big brother Tommy." No surprise to her. Tom cared about people.

"Exactly. Big brother Tommy. That's one reason she contacted him. But not the main one. It's because she owes him her life. The cell she was going to join was Chakotay's. Yours."

Now Torres' eyes rose. "Oh my God! They were all butchered! The Cardassians murdered them!"

She nodded. "B'Elanna, if Ezri Dax had joined that Maquis cell she would be dead now one way or another. Her reaction to the Maquis deaths was very similar to yours but less dark. She still grieves for shipmates on the Val Jean she never knew but understands that could have been her without Tom's intervention. I am not a Betazoid counselor or even a Trill one but I know love when I see it. She is in love with Tom because she owes him her life." Then she stared at Torres. "And how many times did Tom Paris save yours?"

More than Torres cared to count. The Lieutenant Commander said nothing, drumming the table with her fingernails as her mind recalled events she preferred to bury.

"She's not a home wrecker, B'Elanna. When then-Lieutenant Dax heard, as all of Starfleet did, what happened to you on Narcissus and then Tom's returning alone later, she reached out to be a lifeline for a man she admired. A man who had lost his wife and was suffering intense emotional pain."

Torres started to sniff. Janeway walked over and hugged her shoulder. "It's okay, B'Elanna. There are some tissues in that box." B'Elanna snagged one and blew her nose.

Janeway waited a moment and then continued. "Like Tom, Ezri has a very good heart. She went through the joining with Dax due to a medical emergency even though she never wanted to do that. But she has honor and a sense of duty just like you. She is one hell of a woman and a damned good officer, B'Elanna, also like you. She is not your enemy."

"No!" Torres slammed her fist on the table but Janeway was unmoved. "Sorry, Admiral, but there is one major difference here. She wants my husband! That does nothing to endear her to me in the least." She had stopped crying but was anything but calm, her chest was heaving from anger.

Janeway had seen this reaction from Torres many times before and let it ride. "Perhaps she does want him. The question is does he want _her_? And you are going to find out. You asked for my help so here is what I can do. Miral is already a Starfleet brat and won't mind when you tell her to stay with Tom's family for a while. _You_ are going to Deep Space Nine. Voyager has engine problems and will be there for at least a couple weeks for repairs but probably more. It will take you a month to reach the space station and on the way you can study slipstream engineering manuals until you puke. Of course, you like reading that stuff so I doubt you will."

B'Elanna really smiled, for the first time since seeing Miral once more.

"They say that timing is everything, B'Elanna, and you won the lottery. Voyager's Chief Engineer Mike Borzcik has wanted to rotate for months now. I will have orders cut today approving his request to go to Deep Space Two to be with his girlfriend. Voyager will need a Chief Engineer to repair the ship. In my professional assessment and given the circumstances I am convinced it should be someone who knows that vessel intimately and can work efficiently and effectively with Captain Chakotay. And, of course, also with his First Officer. Do you know anyone like that, Lieutenant Commander Torres? It's a short list of one."

A series of very rapid nodding now. "Ma'am, I owe you bigtime!" She got up and hugged Janeway.

Janeway hugged her back and was beaming herself. But then she got serious and shook her head. She held Torres at arms length. "No, B'Elanna. Without your engineering skill and devotion to duty none of us would have made it home. We all owe you more than we can ever repay. Consider this a down payment."

/

Tom Paris had not been to Deep Space Nine since 2367, when he visited as a junior cadet on tour. Built as a refinery by using Cardassian-controlled Bajoran slave labor the same year he was born in 2346, the place had changed considerably over the years. The interior of the main reception hall had been completely renovated after having been turned into a battlefield during the Dominion Wars. Now the place was all spit-and-polish with shiny duranium sheeting, hanging gardens, enriched air, waterfalls, vendors, restaurants, and shops.

It was at one particular restaurant that he was enjoying a break and waiting for lunch with Lieutenant Commander Ezri Dax. He did not have to wait long when she arrived still wearing her Niners baseball uniform from holodeck practice. She loved baseball and played outfield, prompting Tom the music aficionado to send her a copy of John Fogerty's twentieth-century song, 'Centerfield.' She was thrilled and accessed it on her PADD whenever she got ready to play a game.

Now she ran up to him as if she was a teenager in love, for this was the first time she had seen him in months. He stood up and grinned as she threw herself into his arms, kissing him furiously and not really caring that his response was only half-hearted. She wrote that off to fatigue. Tom had been on a very demanding mission in an important position on Voyager and was now overseeing the engine overhaul as Borzcik prepared to step down for reassignment. As it was turning out, the ship would indeed require a tow back to the San Francisco shipyard on Earth because the issues were far more extensive than what had been first identified.

"Tom! I missed you so much! There are so many things I need to tell you. But first, have you accepted my proposal yet? I love you, you know."

Tom laughed and shook his head. _Persistent, this one_. A lot like him when chasing someone he still loved and how long that took to win her heart. B'Elanna's return to Earth was unexpected but Ro Laren had been right in her assessment that she would come back if she could. Inside Tom knew it was just for Miral's sake and not for him. Things would be very awkward now, as the two arranged custody and visitation but maybe B'Elanna might be reasonable. He was not going to divorce her unless she demanded it; he said he would never leave her and that was true, at least that way. That also meant he was not going to marry Ezri Dax.

He half-listened as they ordered lunch, thinking through the complexities of what it meant to get involved with this stunning brunette even for pleasant company. There was of course the now Klingon diplomat Worf, son of Mogh, to consider. He had been married to her; actually Jadzia Dax. Jadzia was killed in 2374 but even ten years later things were still unsettled between him and Ezri who now had the symbiont within her. Tom had experienced his share of pissed off Klingons first-hand and he knew Worf would not be happy if he knew what was going on. He flinched then started laughing.

Ezri was looking at him with a longing in her eyes, wondering what was so funny. She was holding his hand now and he let her.

"Tom, I have some plans for us tomorrow. I know you are busy but you can also make time. I want you to come watch me play baseball. After the game we are going to have what used to be called a 'cookout' with Captain Sisko resurrecting his culinary talents by providing some creole gumbo plus the usual hamburgers, hotdogs, potato salad, beans, and even apple pie for dessert. And cold beer! All provided by the losing team!"

"Sounds good. I'll come if I can." He might be able to make it depending on how long it took to pull the exhaust resonators. He prayed the slipstream drive core wasn't cracked. The six transfer tubes could also be an issue. But he was no engineer. He missed his wife's ability with engines and not just that.

The counselor in Ezri was soon at work, for she saw Tom fade into work once more. "Tom, you look like you are a billion light years away. I want you to schedule a session with me. We need to talk through this personal matter so you can deal with your feelings. I only want what is best for you, for us, and for Miral. You know that."

He nodded automatically without thinking. In truth he was actually being distracted now by the ruckus coming from a passenger tube disgorging travelers from Earth via Q'onoS. About a month journey if not more. Normally Tom would have paid no attention to a routine ship docking except for the reason that this time Captain Chakotay was standing there with Chief Engineer Borzcik and a small contingent of Klingon dignitaries.

"Tom? Tom?" Dax knocked on the First Officer's head. "Ezri to Paris, come in Paris! Lunch is here. You need to eat it before it gets too warm. Or too cold. This Bajoran decapus salad really needs to be eaten fresh and over ice. The Hasperat and lorpa beans are very nice today. Not overcooked like usual. Tom?"

He smirked but did not shift his gaze. "I'm okay, Ezri. I was just wondering what the Captain was doing over there."

Dax shrugged and played with her fork. "Whatever starship captains do! I mean, he makes his own time. You better eat something." But now she turned her head as well, for the din increased. Both she and Tom now watched with interest, mesmerized by what was taking place.

People exited the tube with bags in hand, the typical mix of civilians and Fleeters. Then came a very tall Klingon male wearing the robes of State. He met with the Klingons who rendered official pleasantries. Tom did not recognize him but Ezri did.

"Worf!" She stood up, said excuse me, and walked over to him. After a brief and tepid greeting, the entire group departed for a conference room.

That spectacle was followed by the emergence of a smirking woman wearing the gold Starfleet uniform of an Engineer. Tom could not tell who she was at this distance. But he knew she was a short brunette and walked with a purpose, very erect despite the large and heavy looking duffle bag over her shoulder. Obviously strong.

Now that bag hit the deck. The woman officer saluted then ran into the arms of Captain Chakotay who was hugging the life out of her as he spun her around. After what appeared to be tremendous laughter from both parties, she was now shaking hands with Lieutenant Borzcik but not until after he saluted her and she returned it.

Tom's brain churned. _She outranks a Lieutenant_. Then an inner voice suddenly told Paris that he should leave. Lunch uneaten, he got up but did not get far when his Captain hailed him. _She_ was being escorted over to Paris, Chakotay to her immediate right in his position as the senior officer and Borzcik traipsing along behind struggling to carry the large duffle bag.

Tom's mind raced as the woman officer walked towards him, her face searching his for a reaction. He provided none as he stood there, now fully recognizing who was approaching. _B'Elanna! This is a fucking conspiracy._

Now the parties stopped about one meter apart. Chakotay spoke calmly. "Commander Paris, I think you know Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres. She has been assigned to assist us with the engine rebuild, as our new Chief Engineer. Lieutenant Borzcik has been relieved of duty to take some leave before his reassignment. I will need you to arrange for a going away party."

B'Elanna gave a quick nod and then said, "Commander." That was it. No salute. No handshake. Just 'Commander.' A virtual glacier.

Tom blinked; his blood became very warm as he gathered her scent. Torres was doing the same thing and inwardly was going crazy; her blood was hot just like his. The blood bond pull was now unfettered with no drugs to inhibit anything. But Torres knew her husband far too well and patience was required, not lust. No, this patient cat and mouse game was something she knew how to play, thank you very much. After all, they had danced around each other for four years until she admitted she loved him and that only took a near-death experience. Three more years passed until he finally popped the question when she was about to end their lengthy love affair. She did not know how long this reconciliation would take but she knew one thing: this time, he would crack first.

Voyager's Captain continued, speaking to B'Elanna. "And that woman walking away with Ambassador Worf is Deep Space Nine's counselor, Lieutenant Commander Ezri Dax."

"Charmed, I'm sure. Perhaps we will meet later. But hopefully not." _Meow_.

Chakotay raised his eyebrows but continued on as if everything was normal. "B'Elanna, you must be tired and you certainly want to freshen up and get something to eat. I can have Commander Paris show you to your guest quarters on Voyager. They were completely redecorated, diplomat class now with a large bed. A very large and comfortable bed. And a hot tub with real water! We've moved up in the world."

Before Tom could answer, Torres did that for him. "That won't be necessary, Captain. No need to trouble the First officer. But thanks for the offer. Deck 2, I am assuming?" Chakotay nodded in the affirmative. "Then I can find it on my own, Sir. After I get settled I will coordinate with Lieutenant Borzcik for a change-over briefing."

Tom stared again. This was becoming a habit. "Change-over briefing?"

Lieutenant Commander Torres smirked. "Yes, Commander. A change-over briefing between incoming and outgoing Chief Engineers given Mike's reassignment. The Holographic images he sent me of the damage to the slipstream engines suggest they failed due to microfractures in the benamite crystals. A detailed discussion with Mike who was there at the time and a computer recreation of the event will help us to ascertain the specific failings and provide correct remedies. Still, I believe that our discussion will lead to necessitating a complete engine and system tear down and swap out followed by extensive dry dock testing to spec under load. My assessment is based purely on provided data to date, of course. Commander."

"Of course." Tom looked at Chakotay who just shrugged.

B'Elanna walked around a bit, as Tom's eyes followed and took in her shapely form. She knew he was staring at her but ignored it. "But everything tells me there is a manufacturing defect that caused the microfracture issue. That initial cracking meant that the recrystallization matrix improperly formed due to a weakened plasma mix. The injectors sucking up the weakened mixture meant a poor burn and increased engine stress, thus no slipstream was created even though the engines were working at full capacity. A full load without a proper fuel mix led to more extensive crystal damage and ultimately quantum slipstream failure. I will need to run a series of level five diagnostics to ascertain the specific problem but I believe I am correct. These particular quantum engines are more advanced than the basic Xindi design and certainly a bit more sensitive to stress."

She paused to watch Paris' face as he nodded his understanding. A thoughtful expression then appeared on hers when he made eye contact with her. Looking him dead in the eye and leaning upwards just a bit to close the distance between them considerably, she spoke deliberately, softly, and with confidence. "I suppose another way to put it, Commander, is that unwanted and uninvited interference in the natural flow of things created intense pressure that led to overpowering internal stress and caused something that had once been perfectly aligned to be torn apart. Things are severely damaged now, yes, but the situation is still very much reversible. I am confident that over time we will reverse the current situation to both our satisfactions." Then she licked her lips suggestively.

Tom stared, his mouth dry now as his tongue unconsciously moved along his own lips. He had not heard B'Elanna talk like that in years and he was actually getting turned on. He was also wondering about what to make of what was obvious innuendo.

Seeing Tom's reaction, Torres added for good measure, "As with many things on board my old ship, my practiced hand is often required to relieve stress. As you know, I am very, very good at that." She smiled and stepped back a bit while Chakotay thought he was going to burst. _She's good. Real good._

For his part, Tom fought hard to keep his composure. He nearly broke out laughing.

Torres grabbed her duffle bag as if it was filled with feathers. "So, now I have been assigned to Voyager as Chief Engineer. I will report to First Officer Paris, as soon as I am cleaned up and arranged to meet with Borzcik. See you on board, Commander." With that she headed for the boarding ramp, being careful to give her ass more than a slight wiggle. Avoiding a glace backwards that she really wanted to give, she was grinning broadly as she entered Voyager once again after so many years. _I wonder what Captain Proton is thinking right about now?_

/

It took two months to tear the complex engines apart just to get them prepared for what would essentially be a major overhaul on Earth. Torres was able to find two older warp drives in a nearby Federation scrapyard and rebuilt them into one functioning engine. After the install, it produced a reliable warp three. That was enough to avoid a tow and power the Starship to San Francisco. It would take a bit less than four more months to get there.

Time passed quickly and now Voyager was just two weeks out of the refit dry dock on Earth. Many things had transpired in the lives of Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres. And Ezri Dax and Worf. And Charlie Day and Neenah Flaxes.

In order of least complexity, Charlie indeed popped the question and Neenah unsurprisingly said 'yes.' They were married in the church of Santa Maria in Trastevere **,** one of the oldest churches in Rome and built around 350 AD. It was a small ceremony attended mostly by the crew of the USS Constellation and some of Charlie's Academy pals and his close relatives. By all accounts the bride was beautiful and they were honeymooning along the Bay of Naples in an Italian resort town called Sorento.

Then there was Dax and Worf or more like Dax and Worf and Paris. Well, that relationship ended but not without a lot of emotional pain on many parts. As it turned out Worf was there because a devious B'Elanna had contacted him when enroute to Q'onoS. She had met Worf once before after her brief Academy days ended with her return to the Klingon home world before becoming Maquis. Now she tracked him down through the Klingon Department of State. After filling Worf in on what his deceased wife's symbiont was doing with Tom through Ezri, Klingon honor could not stand Dax being involved with a married man.

The verbal fight that followed was epic in the sense that it was Klingon ritual that ended the Dax/Paris relationship, such as it was. Worf told Paris he must take the Klingon Oath of Union to claim Ezri Dax but not until he divorced Torres in public by screaming 'N'Gos tlhogh cha!' and then spitting at her. Tom refused to do that, which meant he would now have to fight Worf. The Klingon former Starfleet officer claimed his honor was sullied due to Dax having been his mate, albeit within Jadzia. As a half Klingon, B'Elanna knew this was _mostly_ theater but enjoyed watching Tom sweat and Ezri Dax plead for his life. Worf agreed to avoid personal combat, as long as Ezri ended what he called 'foolishness' and 'dishonorable' behavior. She did. Worf left the station with B'Elanna's eternal thanks. A few months later Lieutenant Commander Ezri Dax was seen in the company of Deep Space Nine's Doctor Julian Bashir, her crush or love or whatever it was with Tom now over.

On board Voyager, both B'Elanna and Tom had avoided each other as often as possible initially, which unbeknownst to both of them was making them crazy. But Torres told herself to hold out because she did not want him to push her away. After three weeks of Tom's icy stares and only official conversations she nonetheless began to give up hope, sobbing in her quarters or talking things over with Chakotay.

But ever so slowly her husband began to change.

Given all of the work she was doing while at Deep Space Nine, she did not have time at first to give Tom Miral's gifts. So after three weeks into what she called a 'marital blizzard' she finally did. By coincidence the place she chose to do it was in Sickbay. While she was undergoing a routine physical, Tom stopped in to talk to her about the harmonic inducer in Engine Two. Opening her ever-present tool bag for her PADD, she spotted and handed him Miral's note and the holopicture. After a brief smile and even perhaps a glistening eye, her husband put on that mask of his once more. But B'Elanna noticed what turned out to be the first fissure. He left kissing the picture. Miral magic.

That event was soon followed by several First Officer 'official visits' to Engineering where Tom hand-delivered routine PADD messages and helm reports in person. He paused to talk a bit more to her each time and on the third one she scratched her nose for two minutes until _she_ noticed that _he_ noticed she was wearing his wedding ring. His reaction was typically blank but he was also obviously pleased. How did she know? She watched him leave rubbing that finger on his left hand; he knew something very important was missing.

Soon thereafter was lunch in the officer's mess to discuss construction of a temporary warp core cradle to house the replacement engine and its effect on the helm. Then his helping her for hours to calibrate the newly installed warp coils. That was followed by a drink with him in the bar to congratulate her on a job well-done.

Then came those frequent and telling glances in the corridors that left each other breathless.

Just when things seemed to be moving along Tom turned ice cold. Two weeks of almost nothing passed while the ship was finally underway, which Torres knew was Paris being both very busy and also diffident. Her worry lessened when she caught him staring at her in staff meetings like she was a piece of ripe fruit ready to be plucked. She was. More than ready.

Then they passed by Alpha Centaury as they limped towards Earth's solar system. At the time B'Elanna was sitting up in her luxurious bed midway into Gamma shift, relaxing in her nightgown while accessing her personal logs from those long-past years on Voyager. Her analytical mind was going over numerous past events concerning Tom and how he had so subtly shown her he cared before they were married. As she read, it suddenly dawned on her what he was doing now. Her husband was wooing her once again in his way, being patient as he had been before by testing the waters. He was trying to decide if she wanted this or was it just him. The pattern was there; she saw it now. She had also found those two intertwined Tarkanian roses on her pillow, the ones she now gently caressed and sniffed. Tom had once given her flowers just like them when they were dating. Her knees came up and she rested her head sideways upon them. She could not stop grinning.

A week later Tom was alone in the officer's lounge reading something on two PADDs at once. He was so fully engrossed that he did not see her walk up behind him and look over his shoulder. Torres was expecting Paris to be immersed in complicated reports. Instead, one PADD had pictures of her in a blue tank swim suit that were taken while they were in a holodeck resort. The other was a section from the Klingon novel _Women Warriors at the River of Blood_ , the part where 'Rorg turned his fierce eye upon her, and M'Nea felt her heart begin to quicken, even as her hand went to her dagger.' When B'Elanna asked Tom if he had a knife she could borrow, he literally fell out of his chair. He started laughing and she did too, the first time they had done that together in years. When she helped him up he did not let go of her for quite a while. The look in his eye showed his love for her. And a lot of pain. She was feeling it too.

Janeway was right; it would take time. Precisely one more month to be exact. So now, after months of patiently waiting for this moment to come, B'Elanna was standing at the entrance to a very familiar place, Voyager's Holodeck 1. Beyond that door was her husband, having asked her to dinner. He had the officer's mess cater it, for being the Number One on a Starship had its perks.

She was not surprised when he asked her to dress casually but that threw her for a loop because she did not know what to wear. Too little preparation would signal one thing and dressed to the nines meant something else. This was like high school all over again and she was giddy. So she settled for a plain white wrap blouse with a medium-length but tight black skirt, black panty hose, black panties, black bra, and black heels. Makeup and hair perfect, as always. Perfume; his favorite. And that chain with a ring on it hung around her neck, just in case.

The door opened and what Torres saw took her breath away, for she was not expecting this. Before her was Sakari IV, not the dark caverns but the wooded glade. It was the place where they had almost 'done it.' She recognized it immediately despite her condition then, which was near death. There was the cave entrance where Tom came to tell her that things were not quite how they had intended. This was the exact place where she had flung him onto the ground and straddled him, grinding her groin into his and laughing as she felt his excitement. Not much more detail than that had stuck in her sex-driven brain. But Tom had remembered sylvan trees, numerous blooming flowers of all kinds, and a waterfall, all of which were there.

A large table held her favorite dishes starting with Italian wedding soup for the appetizer. There was fried chicken, potato salad with paprika, tossed green salad with Italian dressing, and fresh bread but no garlic. She noticed that immediately. Tiramisu for dessert. Wine or sparkling water with each course. Hot coffee and tea in insulated bottles. Linen table cloth and napkins, crystal stemware, china plates, and beautiful ornate silverware, all from the Senior Command larder.

And, of course, Tom. A Tom Paris who also took her breath away. He was walking towards her now with a dozen red roses in his right hand, dressed in a black silk sport coat, a dark blue silk shirt open at the collar, black silk trousers pleated _and_ cuffed, and polished black shoes. He had worn this outfit years ago when he first took her into another program, Lake Como. She was so in love with him then, just as she was now.

"You look absolutely beautiful, B'Elanna." He handed her the roses and kissed her cheek, not wanting to get lost in her just yet.

She smiled. "Thank you but you would say that if I was wearing sack cloth." She placed the roses in the offered vase. He thought of everything.

"It would still be the truth. You like it?"

Those brown eyes took in the detail and it brought back mixed memories. "Yes. But why Sakari IV, if I might ask?"

He took her arm and put it in his, leading her to the dinner table. "Because we left some unfinished business there."

Torres did not catch on at first but then it dawned on her what he meant. "You weren't so eager back then, helmboy." He pulled out a chair for her and she sat down as he scooted it forward. Then he sat down.

"White, red, or rosé? The white is a little too sweet, the red is bold with a nice finish, and the rosé is, well, pleasingly domestic." He poured their selection, red.

"We weren't married either, B'Elanna. I was in love with you and wanted to take things slow because I did not know how you felt about me. You kept pushing me away and I should have given up on you. But I couldn't. If we had sex you would have hated me later and that would have torn me to pieces. But I was going to give in because you needed my help. Vorik changed both our minds. Umm...what shall we toast to, Lieutenant Commander Torres?"

B'Elanna thought about what he said and was formulating an appropriate toast to a reconciling married couple with a future once again. She felt the bite mark he had given her on their wedding night. Tom was her best friend; her soulmate.

"To renewed friendship, endless possibilities, and a long-life together, Commander Paris."

"I concur." They clinked glasses and started on the soup.

"You hurt me bad on Gen, B'Ella." _Nice flavor, just enough salt_.

She fiddled with a tiny meatball. _Broth needs more salt_. "I'm sorry, Tom. But when you are drugged with that kind of stuff fighting each other for control and he is whispering in your ear at the same time..." She stopped and looked into his eyes. "Tom, over three years with that pig was no picnic. I was having endless nightmares about you and Miral, past life experiences, and living a life that was not me as somebody's tree ornament. I came a billion light years for _you_ , if you think about it. And also for Miral. And you think I don't love you! Oh, try the salad, the dressing has a little peppery snap to it. And I remember _everything_ , even that damned dressing-down you gave me. I…didn't deserve that." She wiped her lips and had a swig of wine. Drained the glass, actually.

Her husband nodded sympathetically. "I was a bit harsh then, true. But at the time, I meant it. Every word. I came a billion light years for you too and you kicked me in the teeth." He put the empty soup bowl aside. "More wine?"

She held out her glass and shook it a bit, indicating 'yes.' He poured. "I like this fried chicken, Tom. The coating is spicy and crunchy just like I make it. Need to get the replicator recipe." Then she stopped and stared. Tom munched some chicken, not knowing what to do next.

B'Elanna continued. "I hate the Delta Quadrant, Tommy. I never want to go there again. Our lives were nearly ruined there, despite us finding each other. Between ALICE and Steth and voices and monuments and Borg and Vidiians and crazy robots and weapons and mirrors…and why are you looking at me like that?" Tom had stopped eating, his fork suspended in mid-bite.

"Because you are so damned beautiful. And I love you B'Elanna Paris. I love you more than even this potato salad, which is quite good actually." He took another bite and grinned.

"If that's the wine talking, Tom Torres, please let it continue." They laughed. Then she noticed he was rubbing his finger again.

"Feeling naked, Tom? You know, gold can be warming to the touch." She lifted the chain off her neck. "I believe you lost this ring a billion light years from here. I am now returning it to its rightful place, if you want it back."

He held out his shaking hand, so relieved to see it once more. "I…do." Opening the chain with a grin, B'Elanna slipped off the ring. "You'll have to come much closer, I just can't reach."

Voyager's First Officer didn't move except to slide his chair a bit further back. "Nope. Sorry, I'm stuck to this seat. An old back injury I will have to tell you about. Here, I saved a place on my lap for that nice rump of yours. As I recall, it was a perfect fit."

Torres laughed and hoped it still was. She moved over and sat down, immediately feeling something more than his body warmth. Slipping the ring on his finger, she gave him a very satisfying kiss and then a very suggestive look. "So Tommy…umm…are you signaling something?"

He kissed her. "Yes, Honey. It's time for dessert." He slid her off him onto her heels and stood up.

"Not tiramisu?" She giggled.

"Something sweeter than that." He took her by the hand. "Shall we move to that blanket? Years ago, you picked that spot and threw me to the ground, as I recall. I think it is time we try it out."

/

Magnus Dedix had not been in this galaxy very long but he did not like it already. His clammy skin indicated he was not acclimated at all and the food was terrible. It had been a long journey to Terra or whatever they called it. Two months on Bajor after hesitatingly coming through the only remaining transport portal to Galaxy 342-12-998ZR-HRT-12, then a month in a safe house in B'hala, then four months to 'Earth,' and now living in this smelly, fog-bound city called San Francisco.

Dedix recalled being hired for this job because he was human-looking Regales by birth and also a well-experienced criminal with a solid reputation for being efficient and successful in the Gen underworld. Nothing was beneath him. Except killing, of course.

The motive for this job was pure revenge upon B'Elanna Torres and Neenah Flaxes. But he could care less. The purpose of this mission was a simple one, as far as he was concerned and he had been well paid in Rhodium, cash on the barrel head in advance. First he was to deliver a sealed folder to Neenah. That was now sitting in her mailbox awaiting a signature, registered delivery. Second was a quick grab and then head back to Bajor by express private shuttle. Once back on Bajor it was through the still undiscovered and fully operational Gen transport portal, prized package in hand.

He had planned this all out in advance and rehearsed it several times. No sweat. Everything was covered. All was in place to make the snatch.

So now on this Thursday afternoon he stood on a street corner directly across from Starfleet Prep Academy. His cohorts had delayed a certain school bus by cracking an airbrake line in the underground parking garage. As the maintenance crew repaired the damage, the impatient children were out front at the school's transfer pickup point doing what kids do, milling around, talking, playing, and teasing. A few teachers were there as adults came by to pick up their children, not willing to wait for the bus.

But no one was there to pick up Miral Paris, or so Dedix thought.

He looked at Miral's picture. She was easy to spot with those forehead ridges of hers. He looked over the thinning crowd and there she was with school bags in one hand while playing with one of those PADDs in the other. As he started across the street something she was reading caused her to start smiling. Then she was laughing. Now she jumped up and down in a circle. Something had obviously pleased her and she was very excited.

Dedix walked even closer now, trying to look like somebody's father come to claim his child as his boots clicked on the street pavement. The drug-soaked handkerchief in his hand was ready and a phony hovercab was standing by. This grab would be very easy indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 Retaliation

Months before reconciling with his wife, Tom Paris took his daughter Miral's hands in his and helped her with her grip. "Miral, you need to point that PADD a little more to the front at arm's length. The idea is that the noise bothers only bad people, not you or others."

A puzzled Miral looked at her father, concentrating so hard that her tongue was protruding though her lips. "This way?"

"Yes, Honey!" _Finally._ "That's it. Now press the panic button, the little Targ symbol there." The device activated, the light was green.

"Great! Do it once more!"

She did. A beeping tone sounded. "I did it! Daddy, I did it!" Success achieved, for twenty minutes more she would repeat that move then yell what he told her to say as she ran to a safe spot or person she knew. Tom Paris breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could leave for Deep Space Nine knowing that if Miral was in trouble she would do the right thing.

Searching through the picnic lunchbox he had packed, Tom handed his daughter a juice box, thinking how fortunate he was to have contacted the Guardian Personal Security Company that catered to children four and over. After looking at bracelets and fobs, Miral had selected a special purple PADD with a built-in stun blast. Now she was smiling after pleasing Daddy. That grin had melted his heart once more. If only B'Elanna was here to see it but that was never going to happen now. Tom knew he had lost his soulmate permanently to another. Ezri Dax was now in his life, at least as far as he had allowed her to be.

"I love you, Daddy!" The little girl slurped some apple juice and dribbled a bit down her chin.

Tom wiped her face, as she tried to move away. "Careful, don't want to stain that nice dress Ezri gave you, Sweetheart." Dax had been in San Francisco for a professional development conference and after hearing Starfleet rumors had decided to contact Tom. They met for lunch where her old feelings rekindled. She also fell in love with Miral. Things started moving along from there.

Now Miral looked up at her proud father while thoughtfully contemplating the juice box in her left hand. She just blurted, "Ezri is very nice. But will Mommy ever come home? She is beautiful in her pictures. She looks like me."

Daddy hugged his daughter against his leg. "And you are beautiful just like her. But…I don't…know." He knew the truth. Tom bent over to tie her left shoelace knowing B'Elanna would never return. "It wasn't Daddy's decision. Mommy decided what she wanted to do. She did what made her happy."

Miral frowned. "Mommy didn't make you happy, Daddy. Me either. She doesn't love us or she would come home. I don't love her. I love you."

Paris was going to respond but Miral stuck a finger up her nose. He pulled it out, wiping it on a tissue as she giggled. Then she asked, "Do you still love Mommy, Daddy? Even though she won't come home?"

Now Tom picked up his daughter, blue on brown as he looked into her eyes. Surprisingly even to him, the answer was as heartfelt as it was quick. "Don't say Mommy does not love you, Miral. I know she does. And yes, Honey. I do love her. More than my own life. I gave her my soul and she gave me hers. Someday someone very special will ask you to take the blood oath with him and do the same to honor you and your Klingon heritage."

Now that caused his young lady to chew on her straw, as she kicked his back with her heels. "What is honor, Daddy?"

Tom smirked. A child could ask more questions in one minute than a wise man could answer in a thousand years. How could he explain that concept to his nearly six-year-old princess?

So he put it this way, "Honor is something that you have only once, Honey. You can't see it but if you lose it you can never get it back. It means a lot of things. To me, it means I am a Starfleet officer following a lot of officers in my family and having obligations and a duty. With Mommy it means I took her to be my wife and she took me to be her husband. I am only hers forever. It means I will always love you and look out for you, like what we practiced now since I am going away on a long mission. But it also means what I also taught you, to always do the right thing even when no one else is around to see you. Having honor makes it easier for people to trust you."

Miral was quick on the uptake for her age. She nodded and drank more juice, although the chewed straw wasn't operating at peak performance anymore.

"Do you trust me, Daddy?"

Tom hugged his daughter and kissed her lips and forehead. "Yes, Honey, always. That is why we went through the training with your PADD. If anything bad happens and I am not here, I will always trust you to do the right thing."

/

When Gen criminal Magnus Dedix crossed the street in front of Starfleet Prep Academy he had no idea that Miral Paris knew exactly what to do. All he had on his mind was kidnapping and this child was an easy mark. As his contract stated, he was going to take this little girl unharmed through the Bajoran transport portal where Tom and B'Elanna could not follow, having expended their one round trip on a different 'mirror.' The person who hired Dedix wanted Torres to suffer the anguish they were feeling over the death of Rico Fallon, a pain so deep that only retaliation could satisfy it. Taking the Paris/Torres child was horrific revenge to be sure but as far as that party was concerned more than justified.

But that angry person on Gen could not know, as Dedix did not know now, that the Starfleet-educated and trained Commander Tom Paris had tutored his little girl very well over what to do about strangers who tried to approach her. Dedix was also about to discover what growing up in the Starfleet family of Admiral Owen and Julia Paris meant. Tom's oldest sister Moira Anderson (nee Paris) was about to give him a very brief and painful lesson in family history.

That afternoon was untypically cool as Miral Paris received a holovideo from her parents that made her heart leap. Mommy and Daddy were kissing, hugging, laughing and, in a reenactment of a holopicture they had taken on Narcissus, displaying their wedding rings for their daughter and the universe to see. What they obviously did not show her was the reunited couple verbally renewing their wedding vows and blood oath in the privacy of B'Elanna's guest quarters aboard Voyager. Then their taking full advantage of a perfectly-chilled bottle of champagne, that decadent hot tub, and a very large and comfortable bed.

The video caused Miral to laugh and jump around in a circle, tears of joy running down her face. When she stopped, the little girl saw two things that made her think immediately about what Daddy had taught her. There to her left was her loving Aunt Moira whose calm but measured walk became a full sprint as she screamed out her niece's name. To Miral's front was a stranger who was also calling her name and reaching out with something in his hand.

Miral remembered what Daddy said both now and forty-three years later when she was a Starfleet Rear Admiral leading an undergunned flotilla into battle against a superior force in the Gamma Quadrant. As she gave the command to engage the enemy, those words from her now-aged father came back. "Honey, when bad things happen I want you to act. Never react." Act she did; her tactical prowess and command presence made Rear Admiral Miral Riker a living legend.

So Miral Paris pointed her special purple PADD at the man and did what she had practiced with her father at the Starfleet self-defense range. "Leave me alone!" He didn't stop and kept advancing. Pushing the little Targ 'panic button,' she slightly opened her mouth to avoid shock. The green light activated. Pushing once more sent out a ten-second screaming siren blast that emanated frontwards from the device, an ultra-high frequency discharge so piercing that it knocked Dedix to the ground where he held his head in agony and yelled. That was followed by Miral running away screaming 'FIRE' over and over again in what Daddy said was any safe direction. In this case it was towards her Aunt Moira.

Moira was no slouch herself; both she and Kathleen had been taught by their father what to do, just as she and her husband had instructed their own children. In this case she ran over and kicked Dedix in the head more than once, knocking him senseless. Then she called the San Francisco police while protecting her unexpectedly serene niece as a crowd of teachers and parents gathered around. She looked at Miral with astonishment because she was so calm under pressure, a leadership trait that would make her a fast moving rising star during her lengthy and accomplished Starfleet career.

"You did great, Honey! Daddy will be so proud of you!"

Miral was so happy. "And so will Mommy!"

/

In over thirty-five-years on the San Francisco police force, Detective Lieutenant Roger Davis thought he had seen it all. But this guy was something else. Literally. He wasn't human.

No one seemed to know what the hell he was, although his blood was red and it took the same medications and regenerators to fix his cracked skull. Outwardly, he looked like a non-descript, run-of-the-mill forty-two year-old human male desperately in need of a shave and a shower. But _inside_ was where he differed significantly. His heart had six ventricles and was located on the right side. He had one very large lung divided into four compartments. Several organs did things that the doctors only guessed at what function they performed. And _no_ fingerprints. Not sanded, not filed, not acid-etched to eradicate them. No fingerprints, ever.

"So, just what the hell are you, Mister…" Davis looked at the found identification cards, Rhodium coins he did not recognize, and a pile of pocket objects that were of no importance to him. "…Magnus Dedix? I knew a Bendix once but never a Dedix. So where do you come from? Outside the Alpha Quadrant?"

Dedix said nothing. Davis grunted then casually continued as he availed himself of the coffee pot. "I suggest you talk. Down the hall is one very agitated Admiral Owen Paris of Starfleet and he brought a counter-intelligence 'debriefing' team with him. Now that may not mean anything to you but you see Starfleet is claiming joint jurisdiction here because that little girl your repulsive self went after is the daughter of a Starfleet Commander and Lieutenant Commander. Under Federation law, Starfleet gets a _crack_ at you." Davis let that sink in. Not much of a reaction. Okay, no worries. It was his ass.

"Now, as a duly-sworn San Francisco police detective with my hands tied by more civil laws than I care to count, I can't break your bones or smash your fingers or do any of the rough stuff you deserve. They supposedly can't either. But unlike me, Starfleet intelligence personnel, in the interest of Federation security you see, are authorized to use drugs and instruments that the team out there is simply itching to employ on you. If you think that is bad, tomorrow that little girl's Mom and Dad will be here, as well."

He poured some coffee and took a sip. "Now Commander Paris may or may not want to spend some quality time in the interrogation room with you. But I am banking that a certain Lieutenant Commander Torres will. You know where her first name comes from? B'Elanna? Since you are not from Earth, you probably don't."

Still no reaction.

The detective sipped some coffee and continued. "It's 'Bellona.' Bellona was the Roman goddess of war, a great warrior. And this Starfleet officer is an experienced one who fought and killed a lot of Cardassians when she was Maquis. That's a paramilitary group. I heard she is very good with sharp objects. One is called a 'Bat'leth.' Very nice for slicing and dicing. I fought in the Dominion Wars as a Starfleet reservist. I saw Klingons using them in action. When they got through with a Jem'Hadar what was left of him wasn't worth burying. You, Dedix, will be very lucky if you just have the shit kicked out of you a couple of times by a very angry and overly-protective mother. Just saying." He refiled his coffee mug.

Now Dedix was nervous. More than that. "I have my rights. I want a lawyer."

Of course. Scum like him always knew their rights.

"Sure, and you will get one. Just as soon as Starfleet is done with you. You see, Starfleet is a military-styled organization that operates under _their_ Code of Justice. Since you are an unknown alien, Admiral Paris considers you to possibly be the point man of an invasion force, not just a piece of dirt who happens to also like touching little girls. Seriously, I really think you should talk because bad things are about to happen if you don't. Just speak into the video screen over there and that's it."

/

Newlyweds Charlie and Neenah Day were back in San Francisco, arriving just in time to hear about Miral's harrowing experience. Now Neenah was at a coffee shop near 3749 Buchanan Street, the post office closest to Starfleet Headquarters in the old Presidio District. The trained psychiatrist was explaining to Charlie that Gen was not what it appeared to be, just a verdant planet with a heavily-governed autocratic government established eons ago by well-meaning elites in the interest of the public good. Gen was in truth a 'planet on top of a planet,' the observable surface actually an artificial shell several miles thick. When Charlie looked puzzled, Neenah explained.

"As far as any Gen historian can reconstruct, our people were always explorers and colonizers. We have a racial characteristic, a trait that motivates us to spread the 'raceway,' our genetic code in its purest form. Gen astronomers look for newborn galaxies and we seed them, seeking worlds that are livable and unpopulated. In this galaxy, what you call the Milky Way, we seeded three planets. One was what you call 'Narcissus' in the Delta Quadrant, which failed as both a colony and transfer point due to an atomic war. 'Bajor' in the Alpha Quadrant thrived, despite the Cardassians. I do not know where the other one is located."

Charlie nodded, he had seen so much in his Starfleet career that certainly made him a believer in the bizarre. "But that doesn't explain all the races here. We are not all Bajoran."

"True. Life also evolved apart from the Gen, as it has everywhere. Perhaps our people played a role. I don't know. Sometimes we jump start the process in millions of galaxies. If we did not establish a colony then we often provided the 'soup' as your scientists call it, biopoiesis consisting of carbon and water formed from lipids, carbohydrates, amino acids, and nucleic acids. Under the right conditions and a long period of time, what we planted takes root and grows."

Charlie was no deeply-religious person, a self-proclaimed agnostic. But he had to ask. "Where did those compounds come from? The ones you used?"

Neenah shrugged. "Too many theories to talk about over coffee. They were always there to us. But we are open to them having been created by an eternal divine being. I would not rule anything out. But we don't know and the Gen have no religion. To us, you are born, you live, you die, which is why we strictly regulate people's behavior. With no heaven or hell to create doubt, ancient Gen lived like primitive animals doing whatever they wanted without fear of eternal damnation. But what we do know is that our early explorations used 'mirrors' and there were so many of them that they began to cover the planet's surface. They appeared at random, sometimes on top of each other, sometimes in homes, schools, and restaurants. Even under the oceans on the seabed, which made for a very bad return trip! So we covered the original planet with a shell because the transport portals took up so much space and were dangerous."

She drank some coffee and continued. "A few thousand of them later appeared on the outer surface anyway but most have been destroyed now. After centuries of argument, the public safety activists finally won out over the historical preservationists. Educators and lobbyists slowly convinced politicians and young people that the mirrors were a public hazard. Societal opinions changed. But one of those remaining surface mirrors allowed B'Elanna and me to escape. The rest are scheduled to be melted or are below ground on the old surface, millions upon millions of them. At times, living things and plants and seeds come through, even occasional molten lava, water floods, and large rockslides or even snow avalanches. Maintenance crews work on them constantly because most are fully active and support existing Gen colonies across the universe. But they also are very dangerous because hostile things pass through them too, such as intruders or even predators."

The Starfleet officer's brain churned. Such was the price the Gen paid for their overwhelming drive to replicate themselves across the known cosmos. "So, if you wanted to go back, you can't? You told me about the two-way-trip but your mirror is gone."

Neenah shook her head. "No. It is not that clean. Any Gen can go back through a different mirror ONCE and not violate the known science laws. Our DNA is stored somehow in what you might call a 'collective memory.' This ancient system 'knows' us as Gen and allows a return through a different portal. Or if a portal is fully active we can on occasion can go back and forth a few times. For an alien, however, it is different. Once an alien goes through they supposedly must return through the same portal because they are not Gen."

Charlie looked a bit confused and Neenah shrugged her shoulders. "It is complicated, Honey. But still, my science professor told us there is a way to override that law to allow an alien to come back through a different portal _once_ but I don't know how to do that. I would have to do research on Gen or ask professors and scientists who study this stuff. No one here would have that kind of knowledge."

Charlie nodded. Very complicated indeed; this portal business. But so is playing chess and Neenah found that game to be very difficult to master, when they were not doing other important things on their honeymoon.

She gripped his hand. "I think I know of this Magnus Dedix and why he tried to take Miral. Tom and B'Elanna cannot retrieve her once she goes to Gen. They lose her forever unless she can find a way back."

Now she held up some pictures, the ones she had taken out of that registered envelope. Image after image were those of people who once had been her patients. Not only had those wretched individuals been removed from the safety of the Gen State Hospital but they were now on various prison planets or had been thrown at random through any number of transport portals. But one image, however, had torn out her guts.

"Whoever paid for this…this…is absolutely deranged. They have taken my mother! I need to talk with Dedix and see his physical and medical files."

 _Whoa! Mother?_ "Mother? You said you have no family left." Charlie reached out and hugged his wife, who was very distraught.

Neenah held Charlie close and looked up at her husband. "I am sorry for keeping things from you. I love you and it won't happen again. I was raised by Reena Capos, a Judge on the Gen Supreme Court."

Charlie patiently listened, as she grasped his hand and looked directly into his blue eyes.

"I never knew my parents. My father was Tegan Doni Flaxes, a colonizer who left when I was born to escape complications with the Gen courts. My mother, Sera Ryman, was unwed, which on Gen is a capital crime punishable by the death of both individuals involved. She disappeared into a portal before they could execute her. There are no illegitimate or orphaned Gen children. They are considered to be sub-Gen. The State sends them through transport portals regardless of age and they are left to fend for themselves. To the Gen judges and attorneys, banishment with no guarantee of survival is considered more humane that growing up in a structured society without two legitimate parents. So when I was born, I was just someone's big mistake."

Her husband could not grasp this. The Federation would never allow it. But passing judgment over someone else's culture was not permitted, either. There were no good or bad cultures or superior or inferior ones in the Federation. Only different.

She continued. "Because Reena was a judge even then, she had influence in the lesser courts. And a lot of empathy as a woman who had lost her husband and child in a horrible accident. Under Gen law, she remains married until she takes another. So she could legally take me, as a married woman in search of a mate. And she never found him, raising me by herself, which as a rising star in the judiciary was no small matter. Whoever took Reena won't kill her but they will make her wish she was dead."

She bit her thumb, turning it red with her lipstick. "Charlie, I suspect whoever did this wants me to go back so they can retaliate against me in exchange for her. That is another reason I need to talk with this Dedix person."

/

Light years away, the morning sun was perfectly positioned through the keyhole arch that would allow its warming rays of light to shine upon Odon, the Mirror God. High priestess Rhoda-Tel, a native by birth and the sixth daughter of the sixth mother of the sixth house of Kell, was preparing to meet her maker. Drums beat the rhythm, pipes wailed, and symbols crashed as she sat on her knees and swayed.

Her fourteen-year-old unblemished virgin body was laced with intoxicating Quinoas juice. Naked, she wore nothing but flowers and the traditional symbols of fertility painted on her magnificent body in blue and red vegetable dye. As she stood up, her coifed reddish-brown hair cascaded over her ample breasts and she nodded to her family in silent goodbye. Her parents and siblings were honored to watch her go; they would be celebrated for eons as producing an adolescent girl that not only matched the proper numeric combination that allowed this journey but also possessed the requisite birth marks.

The people celebrating this ritual were on the planet they called Vera. They were Federation members located in the 'Milky Way' galaxy about 1.3 billion light years from Gen and 13,000 light years from Earth. Millions of years ago a Gen reconnaissance unit had arrived only to find the place to be barely inhabitable. Nearly everyone left, less a recalcitrant group that stayed. What were now on this planet were their less technologically-advanced descendants.

Starfleet rarely came by; typically when a Starship required refined gallicite for warp engines. That vital mineral allowed the Verans Federation membership given they only possessed a fledgling space program capable of launching satellites and no warp propulsion to speak of. They had managed only comms and other tech such as computers similar to early twenty-first-century Earth. Even limited space travel was not their forte and they had not explored beyond their own atmosphere.

As the ceremony continued, women with nearly non-existent rhinal ridges beat their breasts and flicked their tongues. Similarly-looking men hopped on one leg, firing gunpowder-propelled projectiles into the air. The music suddenly stopped; it had reached a crescendo. Without further ado, the young woman stepped into the mirror, which blinked and then began to recharge. The crowd screamed and prayed.

At that point an aging woman of about sixty walked away, shaking her head. She had left Gen years ago and wondered how many Veran children would be lost like that in her lifetime.

An instant later the Veran high priestess fell through the other side onto a grimy tiled floor, not into the waiting arms of her beloved Odon as she believed. No, this foul place was once a restroom in the antiquated and abandoned Gen subway station. Dazed, scared, and now covered with nondescript sludge, the young girl looked about in stunned silence. Moments later she exited onto a dimly lit platform covered with rubble that paralleled what she did not know were subway tracks. In the distance, a light was coming down the maintenance path, a beam so bright that to her it must be her beloved deity. Going to her knees, she recited the ritual of marriage and made the sacred sign by holding her arms straight above her head, her hands shaped in an inverted 'V.'

That night on the Gen evening news, a reporter announced, "A young alien female from planet ZX3-FFF-5645-H9-BBB-A appeared today in the old Gen railway station after passing through a transport portal that was only now rediscovered. No one has come through that sector in over 800 years. A below surface security team found the teenager wandering about naked and disoriented. After being provided Gen emergency clothing, water, and some food, the female, identified as a Miss Rhoda-Tel, was passed over to State security. She was cleared and sent to the Gen Department of Immigration where she will be assigned a sponsor." In the meantime, the mirror was to undergo full repair, given that her DNA showed she was 100% Gen.

/

Thousands of light years away from Vera, Tom Paris sat in his favorite recliner holding Miral in his lap. Her chubby legs kicked up and down while she talked to her doll as she played dress-up. B'Elanna and Neenah had just cleared the dinner table after having a meal with Charlie and a very special guest, Lieutenant Commander Harry Kim. Harry was in San Francisco after finishing a stint as the Executive Officer aboard the USS Rhode Island. In ten months he would assume the captaincy of the USS Mercury, a Bradbury-class vessel being refitted with quantum slipstream engines and a reinforced hull. He was also there to become engaged to Libby Lattimore once again. Perhaps the third time was the charm but he had his doubts. Libby had been spending a great deal of time at Starfleet taking numerous exams and would not tell him why.

Miral was put to bed an hour later and the group sat around having a liqueur and discussing matters. The major topic was that Starfleet had finally cracked Dedix with Neenah present. He gave up the location of the mirror, which was two hundred feet below the institute headed by Doctor Ro Laren on Bajor. Ro soon dispatched an archeological team and they found it. Now Starfleet secured the area.

"When is the court date?," queried a sympathetic Harry. "I want to be there, if I can."

Neenah answered directly. "There isn't going to be one."

Everyone gawked but she did nothing except to look at her surprised husband. Taking his hand, she calmly pronounced, "He is going back to Gen. He cut a deal."

Now Tom, B'Elanna, and Charlie were looking at each other, as Harry poured another drink in wonder.

At that point B'Elanna had to ask "Why?" and Neenah blurted it out in reply.

"Magnus Dedix agreed to rat out the person paying him in exchange for being escorted to Bajor and being allowed to safely go through the portal."

More shocked faces. Now Tom was curious. "Of who or whom are we talking about? Do you know?"

Neenah snuggled into her husband's arms seeking comfort, which was quickly offered. "Yes. I should have known. It was there all along. A very wealthy woman pretending to be much less than that. It's Doreen, Rico's former maid. Doreen Lyell. They were long-time secret lovers, Rico and her."

 _Of course!_ B'Elanna rubbed her forehead ridges and winced. _What next?_ Fallon had been more than a pig. He died as a Turonian boar hog does, eternally horny and inseminating any female he could mount.

"So he has agreed to go back, go to the authorities, spill his guts, and testify against her."

B'Elanna was dumbfounded. "But…there is no guarantee he will do that! I mean, he could just blow you off and someone else could come through and make another attempt on Miral. How can you trust him?"

"I don't." Now she really hugged her husband. "That is why I am going with him."

/

Two weeks later, a small group of officials and involved scientists stood in front of the Gen transport portal on Bajor. Amid the scurrying of archeologists and cultural anthropologists, two Starfleet security officers manned the barrier that was placed in front of the 'mirror' to prevent an unauthorized transfer in either direction. Magnus Dedix was smirking, his confidence up although his hands were cuffed in front of him with a connecting chain running to each ankle bracelet. Doctor Ro Laren was unusually chatty, her nervousness apparent as she engaged in conversation with a very sad but determined Neenah Day.

One key piece of information had come out about this portal. It was evidently one of the last on-the-surface transporters that remained 'on' all the time. By its ongoing power fluctuations it was scheduled for immediate destruction. Someone or something was obviously fidgeting with it on the other end, causing the portal to flicker.

As archeologists set up their testing and monitoring equipment, Starfleet Captain and Commander Charlie Day was observing matters, a mixed bag of emotions flowed through him as he typed away furiously on his PADD. His ship the USS Constellation was enroute to Bajor and would be docking this evening. That would require a dress uniform for the usual formalities to include an unclassified ship's tour for dignitaries, an office call in the morning with the Federation ambassador, a meeting with the Starfleet liaison officer, and the obligatory luncheons and then a formal dinner. After that, it was on to the Beta Quadrant for a five-month training exercise with the Klingons. Coordinating all of that was his First Officer's responsibility but he was adding his own druthers, which was his prerogative while in command and being solely responsible for the ship and its crew despite his absence.

But all of that took second place with Charlie, whose shore leave was about to expire. His priority had been to breathe some sense into his newlywed wife. As Neenah's husband, he fully supported her but did not want her to leave, especially with no guarantees that he would ever see her again. His mind had churned over having lost Maryann and now Neenah. He wondered how much a human being could stand.

His loving wife was very sympathetic but also unmoved. Neenah's typical retort to his pleading and logic was that in Earth culture he should know that 'a son is a son until he takes a wife but a daughter is a daughter all of her life.' Even one that was a very rare Gen adoption. And she held serious discussions with him over his Starfleet obligations, career, and his crew. It wasn't that she did not love him, for that would not even be close to the truth. It was that she knew under Gen law and custom that this was her sacred obligation, a filial duty to try and free the woman who had raised her. This was not easy for her, as well.

Now the time came for many tearful goodbyes with Charlie and Neenah trying to be brave. They hugged and cried, never wanting to let go. Then without further delay, Neenah whispered 'I love you,' kissed her husband passionately, then grabbed Dedix by his chains and stepped into the portal. They were gone. The power drained a wee bit but came back on. And it continued to fluctuate.

Doctor Ro Laren turned with compassion towards Charlie whose eyes were wet. He was surprisingly calm. The Bajoran archeologist shook her head; typical Starfleet senior officer and captain, unflustered when others would be a nervous wreck. Now he looked up from his PADD and smiled. Then he spoke in an even tone. "I want to say that it has been a pleasure meeting you over these past few days, Laren. You and your staff have been more than gracious to all of us. Tom really respects you and that admiration is well-placed. Oh, almost forgot. He asked me to give you this." He bussed her on her cheek.

Ro blushed. "Tom is quite the man. And I thank the Prophets that he and B'Elanna are back together. It is how it was meant to be." She looked at the portal. "I think we need to move back now to the cleared zone. My Tricorder indicates that the portal is not going to last much longer." The group started to move away but Charlie held back.

"Charlie?" Laren saw his hand extending towards her. He was holding out his PADD for her to take. "Here."

Ro looked surprised. "What…?"

"There is a letter and Starfleet Form 11-114-11A. They are for Vice Admiral Janeway at Starfleet personnel. It is my resignation. Some people have to choose between good and evil in their lives but I am fortunate to only have to pick the greater good. Starfleet is my career but Neenah is my life. I am going to be with her; to see this through together."

Laren's mouth moved and she indicated to the two security officers to move forward once more. But all of them were stopped by Charlie's Phaser. "Sorry. It has to be this way. I married her through thick and thin, in good times and in bad. I did not marry Starfleet, although many of my fellow officers seem to think that they did." He started backing up.

Laren moved forward.

"Don't." She stopped. Then he was ready to go through. "Tell Tom that I love him. He's my brother, now and forever." He turned and was gone.

The power now began to spike rapidly and in intensity; the isotopes were flowing. Ro ran away and screamed, "Back! Everyone back!" The group took shelter and in less than a minute the portal was nothing more than a slimy pool of solidifying goo.


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

Four years after the Bajoran mirror melted, a MIDAS terminal screen displayed a number of documents that Starfleet Captain Tom Paris perused through very bleary eyes. 0200 hours was not the best time to be reviewing promotion packets but his Bajoran First Officer Commander Ral Pa'tha was insistent. She was a real hard charger and efficient Number One and he was thankful for that. Leaning back in his leather office chair, he rubbed his tired orbs and then felt a hand on his shoulder. By her scent he instantly knew who that was.

Newly promoted Starfleet Commander B'Elanna Torres, Tom's Chief Engineer on the USS Constellation, was smiling down at him, their one-year-old son Michael Owen Paris now asleep in her arms. "You need to come to bed, Tom. We have an early transport to Monterey. Kathryn really wants us to be there in time for Thanksgiving dinner."

"Yeah, and I haven't even responded. I have been so busy trying to command a ship long-distance."

B'Elanna nodded. "Well, Starfleet post-natal leave isn't all bad, unless of course you love the Constellation more than me." He recoiled in horror but by the smile on her face suddenly knew she was kidding. He pulled her down for a quick but satisfying kiss.

"There is really nowhere else I would rather be than here with you, B'Elanna. These few months in Frisco have been wonderful." His offended nose suddenly tweaked. "Umm…I think someone is ripe and it is not me."

His smiling wife kissed his cheek and headed for the nursery in what were very spacious quarters befitting a Starship captain. As he watched her go, he thought about that mirror on Narcissus and also the one that had taken Charlie and Neenah Day to Gen four years ago. He often wondered how they were doing.

Newly-promoted Commander Torres returned with two coffees and sat in his lap, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek. "Michael is asleep and Miral finally passed out. She is so excited about this trip. And you look tired, old man. Anything I can do to restore your energy? Once we get to bed?" She stroked his right ear with a finger.

Tom rolled his eyes and relaxed. "Oh, yeah. I'm up for that." He kissed her and the two began to stand up.

Then the terminal beeped indicating an incoming transmission over MIDAS so they plopped back down as Tom nuzzled her neck. B'Elanna hit the receive button to see Admiral Kathryn Janeway staring at her. The officer was heavy-lidded and had obviously been woken up moments before. She was a full admiral now and Chief of Starfleet Operations, the first woman to hold that position. A year out of retirement eligibility, she had been contemplating hanging up the uniform when her promotion came through.

"So nice to see you two. I notice that things are perfectly normal in the Paris and Torres household."

Tom grinned and B'Elanna smirked. Janeway had caught them stealing a kiss. "Oh, just fine, Admiral." Then Tom added, "I am sorry that I did not RSVP but we are coming. And sorry that you had to contact me at what, 0219, to ask why I didn't."

Janeway laughed. "Thanks for the late response but I had you down anyway. You wouldn't miss a free turkey dinner, Tom! But the reason for my call is not that. I just received a high priority message from the Mercury's Captain, Harry Kim. It is his official report over the incident on Vera. You knew that his ship responded to an emergency call from the Veran government, yes?"

"Yes, Admiral." B'Elanna now grabbed a chair and sat down next to Tom. "There was some kind of major upheaval that threatened the gallicite deposits. But what has this to do with me? Or maybe even B'Elanna?"

"You both need to see it. I am going to stream the video to you; the pertinent bits. You should…have it now. And I look forward to the Paris and Torres clan at my place around 1600 today. Janeway out."

In an instant, Kathryn's face was replaced by Harry Kim. Janeway had skipped forward through a lot of the preliminaries because Harry was somewhere in mid-report.

Kim began. "Concerning the nature of the riots, Ambassador Caldwell has determined that the cause is the Gen transport portal."

Tom and B'Elanna drank some coffee and peered at Harry, who had greying hair now and a few wrinkles. Plus a new wife of one year, Lieutenant Commander Nancy Conlon, his Chief Engineer. She had babysat for Miral and B'Elanna had introduced them. They connected, especially after Libby Lattimore just up and disappeared one day without even a goodbye.

Kim continued. "The world-wide disturbances began after the return of a woman, Rhoda-Tel, a high priestess of the god, Odon. Her Gen clothing and subsequent disclosure of what the 'mirror' actually was caused her a great deal of national ridicule. She was nearly executed for being a heretic, especially since no one had ever returned through that portal. But her testimony was confirmed by the arrival of two more groups, the first within minutes of her return and the second three days later."

B'Elanna now leaned over to turn up the volume. Kim's face had been a rock as any Starship captain's would be. But now he was smirking just a bit.

"The woman was followed by the first group consisting of five individuals, former Starship Captain and former Starfleet Commander Charlie Day, his wife and Rhoda-Tel's sponsor, Neenah Day, their twin two-year-old children Myra B'Elanna Day and Charlie Thomas Day, and Neenah's foster mother, a Gen Supreme Court Justice by the name of Reena Capos. She is, was that is, the Primary Justice of the Gen Supreme Court. All are in very good health. The specifics about their return are still vague, although their ability to move through this portal has something to do with conceiving children, selecting for fraternal twins, giving birth, and then bonding their DNA with the children's. In the case of the parents, the children led them through the mirror. I will return all five to Earth upon termination of mission." The screen showed the group who were safe aboard the Mercury and having lunch.

Tom was stunned and B'Elanna held him close. "Tom! Oh my God!"

Kim continued. "The resultant disclosure that the Veran religion was founded upon a dubious belief system caused incredible upheaval in the social fabric. That led to culture shock and bloody and horrific riots. It can be compared to Earth's post-World War II Japanese discovering their Emperor was not divine, which in that case became an orderly transition to Shintoism and Buddhism. A similar situation occurred among the Bundara on Creon I but there all the matriarchs, priests, and lay people were slaughtered. Here, order was restored in several days but the ramifications run deep. I recommend a Federation sociological and cultural anthropological team be dispatched immediately to work with the Veran government and its people."

Harry drank some water and moved on. "The second group turned out to be a five-man-team of Gen hitmen seeking revenge over the death of a certain Doreen Lyell. When they pursued Neenah Day, they were shocked to discover that the entire party was not on the planet but aboard my ship. They demanded a vessel to follow me only to discover that the Verans are not capable of interstellar travel. In sum, they are trapped on Vera because the Veran government ordered the 'mirror' destroyed as a false god, using diagrams and procedures provided by Neenah Day. Given the charges and evidence against them, these individuals are looking at long prison sentences."

The holomovie ended, as Harry progressed to other subjects. Tom stared at the monitor, too tired and too shocked to say anything at first.

Torres yawned and spoke for him. "Wow! Incredible! But Tom, it's time for bed. You can play this again later."

B'Elanna's husband nodded, stood up, and put his arm around her waist. They walked down the hallway together, checking in on the children to make sure all was well. When they reached their bedroom door, Tom stopped to look into his wife's eyes. He was crying.

"Tommy? What?" B'Elanna was emotional, as well.

"Okay, so your husband is a mushy sap who is so in love with you. All this mirror business has caused me to think. Before we were married I used to think when I looked into your eyes I could see eternity. But now I know that is not true."

They were nose to nose now. "No?" B'Elanna looked confused.

"No." Tom touched his nose to hers and looked into her eyes. "What is inside those brown orbs of yours is me, my image looking right back at me. And your image is in my blue ones looking back at you. It is as if our eyes are the reflection of our souls, B'Elanna, a true mirror of what we mean to each other."

B'Elanna bit her quivering lower lip then kissed her husband deeply. "And I also know what it means when you talk like that, Tom Paris."

Tom cocked his head. "What, B'Elanna Torres?"

"No pain sticks this time." She laughed and led him into their bedroom, locking the door behind them.


End file.
